Café Vienna
by lepetitfromage
Summary: Gilbert reunites with his best friend Elizabeta in Vienna, who has a job for him at her cafe, Nocturne. Each night she takes coffee to someone upstairs. It's a tightly kept secret at Nocturne that Gilbert hasn't cracked yet. But discovering the man Liz is protecting now means nights full of drifting piano and pretending that he doesn't affect Gilbert in the way that he is. - Pruaus
1. Chapter 1

The pavement shone wet in the streetlights and the air still smelled of rain when Gilbert departed from the train station. With his huge backpack hiked up his shoulders, he took a cab to the address he gave to the driver. He watched the streetlights pass through the window, little droplets clinging to the glass.

The driver let him out in front of a corner café, lights inside dim. It was nearly closing time.

Suddenly Gilbert got butterflies. It had been so long…

First there was a door to a little foyer. To the left was the café's entrance. Straight ahead was a dark staircase. He pushed the door open to soft indie rock, and two women cleaning the machines behind the counter. Gilbert dropped his pack on a table.

One of the women spun around. A grin stretched across her face and she ran around the counter. "Gilbert Beilschmidt!" she said as she threw her arms around him.

He laughed and squeezed her back. "Hi Liz."

She pulled back, her hands on his shoulders. "You didn't call or text."

He shrugged. "You gave me your shop hours."

She rolled her eyes. "It's still nice to call first." Now she looked him up and down. "You got taller."

"Only a little," he replied. "Your hair is longer," he said, smoothing a lock of her waist-length tawny brown hair through his fingers.

"I've been growing it out. Did you find the place okay?"

"Yeah, I took a cab."

She clicked her tongue. "You paid all that money?"

He laughed again. "I only just got off the train before coming here, Liz."

Now she gaped. "You just don't know how to take it easy, do you? Anyway," she said, dragging him further inside. "Lili, this is a friend of mine, Gilbert. Gilbert, Lili, one of my employees."

The young woman nodded and smiled politely. "Nice to meet you."

Gilbert returned the pleasantry. She seemed to be a timid girl, completely unlike Elizabeta.

"Do you still have things to do? I can step out for a bit," Gilbert said.

Elizabeta waved it off. "No, we're just about done, right, Lili?"

"All finished back here," came her light voice. "We just have to clean the tables, flip the chairs, and sweep."

"Let me help," Gilbert said.

"You don't have to, we work fast."

"And it'll be faster with my help."

Liz made a face, but conceded, throwing a cloth at him.

They made quick work of the closing duties with Gilbert's help. Conversation was kept light and innocuous, mostly Gilbert asking how Vienna had been treating Liz, and details about the café.

When Lili put her coat on and called out a goodnight to them, leaving through the foyer, Liz did the same and asked Gilbert, "Ready?"

Gilbert grabbed his big pack, and followed Liz out the door. She stopped him inside the foyer and told him to wait there a minute. She was holding what looked like a thermos. He hadn't noticed. She went upstairs, and came back down only seconds later. The thermos was gone. Gilbert was about to ask, but she was already asking him questions.

They caught the bus at a stop one block away from the café. There weren't many riding, and they sat together toward the back.

"You'll stay with me tonight, obviously," she told him.

Gilbert smiled. She really hadn't changed much. "Thanks, Liz."

She cocked her head to the side, watching him. "Is there something the matter?"

"No. Just tired from travelling."

"Of course. Where did you come from?"

"I was in Paris. Francis had me stay with him, I wouldn't have been able to afford it otherwise."

"Tell me about it. What did you do?"

"His friend owned a little bookstore. One of his employees had recently ditched so my arrival was pretty convenient."

"You in a bookstore?"

Gilbert chuckled. "It got boring sometimes, but it was money."

"Well you seem to be good at showing up when convenient. I need another person at the café. The job is yours, if you'll take it."

Gilbert usually liked to settle in, take stock of his options first. But he didn't feel like lazing about this time. And the job was with Liz after all. "That'd be great."

Liz sighed back in her seat. "Thank you so much, Gil. Hiring processes are so tedious. At least I can put that off now. How long will you be here?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

They reached their stop, and Gilbert walked with Liz another two blocks to her apartment. Inside, he dropped his pack next to the couch and himself in the middle of it. Liz rummaged through the fridge.

"You want a beer?"

"Sure," he said, and Liz came around to sit next to him, a beer for him, and one for her.

"Now," she said. "I know I haven't seen you in years, but you don't seem like your normal self. And it's not just the travel fatigue."

She was right. He had sort of been in a… slump lately. Gilbert looked at her, seeing the face that had changed in few ways, but big ways. The last they'd seen each other was high school. They'd stayed in touch, sure, through email, occasional phone calls, and social media, but a picture didn't have the full effect sitting in front of her did. She'd certainly matured; her face had come into her cheekbones and jawline. Her green eyes, still long-lashed and big, were keener with life experience. Her hair was longer than he remembered it, but she still had a habit of wearing decorative clips.

It was also apparent that she'd grown into her body, but then again, so had he. Eighteen was nearly ten years ago.

It was then, in high school, that they'd dated for a few months. But they had come to a mutual agreement that being friends suited them better. He considered himself lucky to have kept a friend like her through university. _Her_ time at university. Gilbert hadn't gone.

After high school, Gilbert had started travelling. He was a self-proclaimed drifter, never staying in one place for more than a year. His time in Paris, with Francis, had only been two months – enough time for his bookstore friend to find a replacement. The man was finicky with who he hired.

A new person, a long-term person, was hired, and Gilbert spent another week with Franny before deciding on Vienna.

And as far as he knew, Elizabeta lived in Vienna. He sent her a message, and here they were.

"I might be a little off, yeah," he answered. "But don't worry about me. I'll be fine." He smiled. "I want to know what's been going on with you."

She gave him a brief look that said the previous topic wasn't finished yet, but she leant against the couch and said, "I've owned the café for two years. That's where nearly all my time is spent."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really. How did that happen?"

"It's something I've always liked the idea of. The opportunity presented itself, and here I am. I really do enjoy it though, as much work as it is."

"I read reviews. You're pretty popular."

She laughed. "Let me be humble."

"So," he continued. "Are you dating anyone?"

She wrinkled her nose. "There were a few guys in the past. I'm not seeing anyone now. What about you?"

"Just… flings," he said, the number of _flings_ flashing through his head like a reel. "Nothing remotely steady."

"No, you move around too much for that, huh."

"You could say that." Feeling exhaustion come down on him, Gilbert let his head fall back. He sighed.

It seemed the late hour had affected them both. Liz's head came to rest against his shoulder. He glanced at her, rest his on top of hers.

"It's good to see you again, Gil," she said softly. "I did miss you."

"I missed you too." And he did. She'd been his best friend – still was, he supposed. "It's nice to come back and speak German again."

She laughed, lifted her head to shoot him a questioning glance.

"Francis kept trying to help me learn more French. I'm still not exactly proficient, and I used more English to compensate. Much to the Parisiens' dismay. Now I don't have to think so hard."

"You poor thing," she snickered. "Well, go clean up. I'll make up your bed. You've got a full day of work ahead of you."

He took his toiletries to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, washed his face, squinted at how dull his already pale skin looked, and dragged a hand through short white-blond hair. It was just the fatigue, he told himself.

Liz had made him a little bed on the couch: sheet, blanket, pillow. She said goodnight and left for her bedroom.

Once it was only him in the room, he flicked the lamp off and collapsed on the couch. The city sounds outside the window lulled him to sleep quickly.

.

When morning did come, Liz had let him sleep in. She made him a late breakfast, told him where he could find certain stores around town, and together they left for the café. A full night's rest had benefitted Gilbert greatly. He was more chipper, joking and teasing as per usual. It was easier to push aside what was really bothering him, there in the back of his mind, and enjoy a new adventure with a good friend.

Gilbert held the foyer door open for her and she thanked him, continuing up the staircase next to the café.

"Go ahead in," she said. "I just need to grab something."

He cocked an eyebrow. "What is that?"

"Don't worry about it, just go inside."

Gilbert watched her suspiciously as she quickly climbed the stairs. He sat at a table and looked out the windows, through the royal blue letters of the café's name, _Nocturne_ , to the noontime street bustle. He watched through the windows as she came back down, a thermos in her hand. It looked like the one from last night.

She handed it off to the barista behind the counter before sitting in front of Gilbert.

"What was that?" he asked.

"It was nothing. Not important," she said. She pulled the new-hire paperwork out of her bag, and a pen, and pushed them across the table. "Fill these out and I'll get you behind the counter in a bit."

He cast her one more questioning glance before clicking the pen and not thinking anymore of Liz's eccentricities.

Gilbert had been a barista before. He knew how it worked. It took him a couple hours to really familiarize himself with Liz's equipment before he assured her he could handle himself. Lili came in not long after Gilbert really got going, replacing the openers.

Liz still worked alongside them, and with three the work went smoothly. Gilbert was able to put himself in the zone all through the afternoon. Oddly enough, it felt nice to do such fast-paced work again. He loved Francis and thanked him for getting him that job, but Gilbert had too much energy to work in a bookstore. Perhaps that was what made him feel so down lately – all that poetic prose and written passion had put him in a mood.

All in all, Gilbert had a relatively successful first day, and as they were winding down and starting cleanup he'd managed to get some laughs out of Lili. He'd barely noticed that Liz was making another pot of coffee, even though they'd officially closed, before she was pouring it into a thermos. And it was the same thermos from the previous night, and this morning. It was purple, with a screw top, and it looked like it held three or four cups of coffee.

Wordlessly, without even a glance at him, she screwed the top back on and walked out the door with it, climbing the stairs to whatever lay up there.

"What is she doing with that coffee?" he asked Lili.

Lili's gaze flicked between the door and Gilbert. She finally cast her eyes down to the register – she was counting the drawer – and said, "It's just something she does. I don't know what."

"Are you sure?"

Her eyes flicked back to him for a second. She appeared a little nervous to him, but he wouldn't pry, at least not with Lili.

When Liz came back, resumed cleaning like nothing had happened, Gilbert asked, "What is up with that thermos?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," she said decisively. "Are the steamers cleaned?"

He narrowed his eyes, but played along. "Yeah. They're done."

"Good. Could you start sweeping? I'll be behind you with the mop."

And just like that, not another word about the purple thermos was mentioned.

.

Gilbert may have stopped asking about it, but he never stopped noticing. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her fill the thermos during closing, didn't look her way when she quietly left to deliver it upstairs. When he was put on the opening shift, he watched as one of the employees came downstairs with it, empty and clean. They stuck it inside a cabinet and continued on with the day.

This habit happened every day without fail, and Gilbert was growing more and more curious. At first, it didn't even occur to him that there was an apartment above the shop. The lights were always off during the day, he never saw anyone come down. And he wasn't getting any answers out of Liz.

Whenever they went out, touring the city, running errands, he found himself wondering who the hell was up there, and why Liz wouldn't tell him.

It was starting to get on his nerve.

But what could he do?

.

"Liz are you okay?"

She was racing around the apartment with a panicked look in her eye, just as they were about to leave.

"Change of plan," she said, snatching a shirt out of the clean laundry. "I need to go to Budapest for a couple weeks. My mom–"

Gilbert stopped. "What happened?"

Her eyes were brimming with tears but they weren't spilling over. "My mom is sick. In the hospital. I'm practically all she's got and–" she cut off when her voice cracked.

"Go, then," Gilbert ushered. "Do you need any help packing? I can take you to the station."

She laughed a watery laugh. "Thanks Gil, but I could use some alone time to clear my head. Lili will be waiting for you anyway. You better go ahead."

"Liz–"

"Honest, I'll be fine. I'll check in once I'm on the train." She smiled, came over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Gil. Now go."

He pouted, but complied, telling her to text him when she could before exiting her apartment. When he got to Nocturne he gave Lili the update and they worked together, business as usual. Until night fell and Gilbert received a hasty call from Liz.

"Is Lili still there?" she asked right away once he picked up.

"Hi Liz," he said. "No, I told her she could go early. I'm almost done here."

He heard a hushed curse and then, "Gilbert I need you to do something for me, exactly as I tell you, okay?"

Gilbert looked around, wondering if there was something he missed. His gaze passed over the staircase on the side of the windowed foyer. He had a feeling he knew what Liz would say.

"Alright," he said warily.

"The purple thermos should be in the cabinet to the left of the register. I need you to make a fresh pot of the dark roast, fill the thermos, and bring it upstairs. There's a small table to the right of the first door. Put it on the table. Don't knock, don't go in. Just put it there and leave."

Such strict instructions were already teasing his curiosity. But he simply told her, "Got it. Leave it and go."

"Thanks, Gil. I'll be in touch soon."

They hung up, and Gilbert went about making the coffee with a scowl on his face. Why on Earth was she being so secretive about this? It made no sense to him.

Resignedly, he poured the coffee into the thermos and finished up the last few tasks. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, locked up behind him, and climbed the stairs, thermos in hand.

He hadn't gone up to the second floor yet. He didn't know what he was expecting, but all he saw was a dimly lit hallway, the first door to his left, and two more doors down the hall on the right.

The table stood next to the door. A scripted number " _1_ " centered on the door. Completely nondescript. It frustrated Gilbert even more.

He put the thermos down perhaps harder than he needed to. Stood in front of the door, as if its resident would immediately appear.

When it was evident that they weren't going to, Gilbert gave the thermos one last glare and resolved himself to worry no more about it. He tromped back down the stairs, out the foyer, and toward Liz's apartment.

.

The next day, when Gilbert skirted the counter, the first thing he did was check the cabinet.

The purple thermos sat right on the shelf. He stared at it, shifted his gaze to Lili next to him.

"What is it, Gilbert?"

"Nothing," he mumbled. He straightened up, put on a bright smile. "How are you today, Lili?"

She smiled and laughed. "Not bad."

He was able to keep up his enthusiastic work ethic through the day. As the sky grew darker, his acceptance of the purple thermos became more settled in his mind.

And wouldn't he know it, while closing with Lili, Liz texted him.

 _Don't forget. Thermos. Dark roast. Thanks._

Lili watched him out of the corner of her eye as he went about making the coffee and pouring it. She said nothing still when he took it upstairs.

Gilbert faced his enemy – The Door. He could hear nothing from inside. He saw no light peeking underneath. Did anyone even live there? Was Liz deluding herself?

Gilbert put the coffee on the table once more. Paused. And left.

.

Day 3: Events occurred in much the same way as the previous couple days.

Gilbert made the coffee. Took it upstairs. Set it down.

This time, he raised a hand, as if to knock. But he didn't. It didn't feel right.

Gilbert left.

.

Day 4: Gilbert told Lili he'd stay behind and finish up. She said goodbye and went home.

Gilbert took the thermos upstairs, put it on the table as usual, and retreated to the foyer. There, he sat on the bottom step. He decided he would wait until he heard someone open the door, then he would investigate.

He hadn't considered how tired he was, and promptly fell asleep against the wall.

He jolted awake a half-hour later, scrambled up the steps, but the thermos was no longer on the table.

Gilbert swore under his breath and went home, collapsing onto his bed with a frustrated huff.

.

Day 5: This day was going to be different. Gilbert promised.

He went about his duties as usual. Smiled at customers, chatted with Lili. He performed his closing duties all while humming. Ran the coffeemaker for the purple thermos as normal.

Lili waved goodnight, and Gilbert waved back.

Showtime.

Gilbert finished his duties, locking the café and slinging on his pack. He took the thermos upstairs and stopped in front of the door.

He started with a single, soft knock.

Another, a little harder this time.

Nothing.

Biting his lip, he tried the doorknob. His heart thudded when it gave and the door swung slowly open.

Gilbert stared wide-eyed into the black abyss. Some overactive part of his imagination told him this was classic horror movie setup, and he should _leave_. But logic gave him a courageous mental slap and Gilbert entered the apartment.

He felt along the wall until he found a light switch. He blinked at the room before him.

White walls, and old, original wood flooring. It looked like the inside of an antiques shop.

The decor was – to Gilbert's taste – superfluous and ornate. Little end tables with intricately carved legs and polished surfaces. Deep, rich Persian rugs. A couch and armchair set that looked like it belonged in a 19th century drawing room. The coffee table decorated with a small bouquet of flowers in a slim, elegant vase.

In contrast, the kitchen boasted very much modern-looking stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. There were no dishes in the sink, and the kitchen – even the whole apartment – looked unused for the most part.

But what perhaps intrigued Gilbert the most was the presence of a gleaming black baby grand piano. Set into the semicircular space by the windows overlooking the street, it commanded attention. Gilbert realized this was the curved face of the building corner, above Liz's café.

Gilbert absently put the thermos down on the coffee table and wandered over to the piano. This, out of everything in the apartment, denoted the sure presence of a resident.

The top board was propped up and Gilbert looked inside. The rack was littered with staff paper, and music notes were penciled in.

He sat at the bench, and took one of the sheets in his hands. The musical notes were like gibberish, and it didn't help that whole lines were crossed out and unintelligible words were crammed in the margins.

Gilbert suddenly heard the floorboards creak behind him, and he whipped around, thinking his heart might bust out his chest.

A man stood behind him, wielding a metal bat and ready to strike. Gilbert shrieked and fell off the bench, throwing his hands up, a cold sweat bursting from his skin.

"Fuck! Whoa! Whoa!" he shouted as the man prepared to swing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm not a robber, I promise! I'm from downstairs, Liz's café!"

The man halted his swing, tilting his head to the side in bleary-eyed confusion. "Elizabeta?" he said, his voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah," he said, adrenaline making his voice jitter. "Nocturne. I'm a friend of hers, I work there."

"You work at Nocturne."

He swallowed. "Yeah."

The man stood still. He blinked at Gilbert, narrowing his eyes as if to focus. Then he rubbed his eyes and groaned out, "Coffee." He glanced around his apartment. "Did you bring coffee?"

Gilbert wasn't sure his heart would stop thundering in his chest, and he could only stare, dumbfounded, and point to the thermos on the table.

The man took it and shuffled to the kitchen. He was wearing a wrinkled, white button up shirt and silk pajama pants. It was evident that Gilbert had woken him from sleep.

He watched as the man poured the coffee into a mug and dropped two sugar cubes in it. He stirred it, placed the spoon on a saucer, and brought it back to the living room where he dropped himself onto the couch.

Gilbert watched in amazement as he calmly blew over the top, cooling it, taking little sips. All this he did as if in a trance – an elegant trance. He might have belonged in a period film. Aside from the pajama pants and button-up shirt.

Gilbert gaped. This was the person he'd been bringing coffee to. Who–?

"What is your name?"

He almost hadn't heard him. His voice was clearer now, carrying a tinge of pomposity.

"Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt."

He squinted in Gilbert's direction. "One moment. I need my glasses."

He set his mug down and shuffled down the small hall off to the side that Gilbert had missed when he came in. He returned with a pair of rectangular glasses perched on his nose – a long, slim nose, now that Gilbert was taking in his face. He returned to his place on the couch, and resumed sipping coffee.

"Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "It must be uncomfortable on the floor."

Gilbert scrambled off the floor and sat himself in the chair, watching the man warily.

He had dark, cocoa brown hair; sleep-mussed, but parted on the side and falling in front of his eyes as he drank. Behind his glasses, dark eyelashes fluttered over steel blue eyes that Gilbert could have sworn were tinged the lightest of violets earlier. Maybe it was a trick of the light. His lips, resting in a line, neither up nor downturned, featured a deep cupid's bow.

Gilbert cleared his throat. "So…"

The man simply glanced up over his coffee.

"What's your name?"

He took a sip. Then, "Roderich."

Gilbert scratched the back of his head. "Um, hi."

"Have you been making this coffee for the past few days?"

"Yeah, I have."

He neither smirked, smiled, nor frowned. "I can tell."

"What does that mean?"

"You brew it differently than Elizabeta does. A little stronger."

Gilbert curled his lip. "If it's such a big deal, then brew it yourself."

He held his gaze in a semi-glare. "I never said it was a big deal."

Gilbert's brow furrowed. "Alright, well excuse the fuck out of me, but _who_ are you?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Liz has had me making coffee for you every night this week, and baffled as to what the hell is going on, and no one will say a word about you. I was beginning to think there was some Phantom of the Opera-type shit going on around here."

"Why is Elizabeta not making the coffee?"

Gilbert stared, his jaw slack. "You don't even talk to her?"

He shrugged.

The man, Roderich, apparently, looked entirely indifferent to have Gilbert, a stranger, in his apartment. Gilbert couldn't believe that _this_ was who Liz had been so secretive about.

Gilbert surged to his feet, muttering, "Jackass," as he grabbed his backpack and left. Perhaps he slammed the door behind him harder than necessary, but he was all about making points.

And his point was that he had no time to deal with some pretentious prick.

At least, that's what he told himself to believe.

* * *

 **New story! This is another one in which I got the idea but don't exactly know where it's going so this will be an adventure for all of us.**

 **Thanks for reading/supporting!  
Tumblr: le-petit-fromage**


	2. Chapter 2

After they closed the next night, and Lili left, Gilbert stomped up the stairs. He had the thermos gripped in his hand, but he didn't put it on the table. The door was locked this time, and Gilbert's jaw twitched.

Instead, he pounded his fist on the door.

"Roderich!" he shouted. "Roderich, open up! Get your ass out of bed or whatever it is you're doing!"

The door was suddenly yanked open and a confused, irritated Roderich was seen through the crack of the door. Bedhead like the previous day, glasses skewed on his face, and a vaguely murderous look in his eye.

"You," he said. "What do you want?" His eyes finally shifted downward and saw the thermos.

Gilbert held it away. "Nope. I'll give this to you after you answer some questions."

It was a tense moment as Roderich visibly debated letting Gilbert in. He could almost call it comical, if he weren't already so frustrated.

"Fine," he muttered and walked away from the door.

Gilbert rolled his eyes and he pushed his way inside. He dropped himself onto Roderich's couch. He was standing over him, arms crossed, wearing a purple t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

"I take it your favorite color's purple," Gilbert said.

Roderich made a grab for the thermos but Gilbert was able to hold it away with ease. Apparently he was not a very agile riser.

Roderich sighed, full of annoyance. "Give it to me."

"Jeez, addicted much?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"I told you you'd get it once you answer my questions."

"If you want coherent answers you'll give it to me first."

There _was_ that. Gilbert made a show of making a decision, but Roderich simply sighed again and snatched the thermos out of Gilbert's hand.

Gilbert laughed as he walked into the kitchen to prepare his coffee. Two sugars. Stir. Inhale and sigh. Roderich came back and sat in the armchair opposite Gilbert – their seats from the previous day switched.

He silently let Roderich take a few leisurely sips. Gilbert looked around the room in the meantime. Everything looked the same, maybe the papers littering the piano had been moved around, but it still looked like a show room at an antiques expo.

"Why are you here, Gilbert?"

So he'd remembered his name?

"Why are _you_ here?" he retorted.

Roderich glared at him. "I live here."

Perhaps that was a dumb question. "No," he said, pressing his fingers into his eyes. "I mean, why–"

"Gilbert," he repeated. "Why are you here? Why do you care?"

Gilbert paused, his mouth open but the words not coming. Was "because I'm nosy" a bad excuse?

"Liz doesn't keep many secrets," he finally said. "And this had 'suspicious' written all over it."

"This."

"Yeah," Gilbert waved a hand at him and the room. "The fact that no one would tell me about you."

Roderich said nothing.

"Why won't Liz tell me anything about you?"

Roderich rolled his eyes and took a sip. "Do you think I know everything she thinks? Elizabeta will do as she pleases. It is not for me to tell you the reason why."

Gilbert was confused. "Yesterday, it sounded like you didn't talk to her often."

"You would be correct."

"Why?"

"I hardly need to speak with her all the time."

"So you don't know why she's gone?"

Roderich looked up at him then. "No. Why is she?"

"Her mother is sick in the hospital," Gilbert replied, gauging his expression. "Liz has been in Budapest, that's why I've been making your damn coffee for almost a week now."

His eyes flickered everywhere but Gilbert. "That's a shame – about her mother."

"How do you know Liz?"

"I've known her for years," he said with a note of finality, like that was all he was going to tell Gilbert. He decided to change topics.

"What is it you _do_?"

"Excuse me?"

"I've gathered that you sleep during the day, but what do you do?"

Roderich glared at him. "Can I ask you a question?" Evidently it didn't invite a response. "What does it matter to you? You don't know me."

"It matters when, for some reason, Liz won't tell me anything and I'm supposed to keep supplying you with coffee – which is a whole other thing completely, by the way."

Roderich took a few seconds to answer, but he said, "I'm a composer. And I function best at night, so I altered my schedule to accommodate that. Satisfied?"

It explained the papers on the piano, but it was a little lackluster as far as thrilling reveals went.

"I don't know what you expected," he went on. "There's nothing suspicious about me."

He decided not to tell him his half-baked theories about him being a spy or some conman.

"Then why does Liz bring you coffee night after night?"

He sighed, less annoyed this time and more exasperated. "Once again, you'll have to ask her. I honestly don't know why she does it, but I'm grateful nonetheless."

"Doesn't seem like it," Gilbert muttered.

Roderich stood then and circled the couch to refill his mug at the counter. "Now if you would please leave."

Gilbert stared after him. "What?"

"I've answered your questions. Now go."

It wasn't like he could make a case to stay. Really, he didn't know him, he had no obligation to stay. Sure, he had more questions, but it was obvious Roderich wouldn't answer any more. Not tonight anyway.

Gilbert left, and managed not to slam the door this time.

On the bus, he smiled deviously to himself as he went into planning mode.

.

Gilbert settled himself on the floor, his back to the wall, in front of Roderich's apartment.

He had the thermos in his hand, and his phone in the other. He played some games to pass the time.

Some time later, he could hear feet moving around on the other side of the door, and he grinned.

Roderich opened the door, blearily reaching out to the table. When his hand swiped through the air, he screwed up his face and adjusted his glasses, finally seeing Gilbert on the floor.

His lip curled.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Roderich shot him a glare, stepped up to snatch the thermos, and promptly retreated, slamming the door behind him. Gilbert heard the sound of the lock.

He snorted and picked himself up off the floor, heading home with a smile on his face.

.

Gilbert was browsing through a magazine at one of the café tables. He was never much one for reading books, and he felt like getting caught up on the latest celebrity gossip.

It was raining, he could see how heavily as the water passed under the light of the lamppost. He grimaced at the thought of going home in that.

He checked the time on his phone. Soon.

Gilbert popped a chip into his mouth, reading about such-and-such's recent escapades.

Then, it happened. The door behind him creaked open and Gilbert smiled. He went on as if nothing happened.

"What exactly do you think you're doing, Gilbert?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"Gilbert, where is it?"

"So rude. What if I just wanted a pleasant conversation first?"

Roderich stepped into his line of view, clad in his purple pajamas, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Gilbert closed the magazine and glanced up at him. "The prince finally leaves his castle." He reached into his backpack. "I've got your princess right here."

He pulled the thermos out and set it on the table. Roderich grabbed it.

"Man, you are so addicted," he snickered.

The café door shut behind him.

"Bye!" he called to the footsteps climbing the stairs.

.

A not-too-gentle kick to the side startled Gilbert out of sleep. He groaned. His arm had fallen asleep.

He yawned as he sat up, suddenly remembered where he was.

"You're in my way."

Gilbert rubbed his eyes and looked up at Roderich's unamused face, standing over him and dark from the hall lights' shadows.

"I could report you, you know."

Gilbert grunted an unintelligible string of words. He'd fallen asleep on the hard hallway carpet in front of Roderich's apartment, waiting for him to open up when he hadn't the first time Gilbert knocked.

Gilbert perked up. That means he'd left _before_ Gilbert came up.

He looked around, finding the thermos, and collected his belongings. He stood, cracking his back as Roderich resumed unlocking his door.

Gilbert stared. It had just occurred to him that he hadn't yet seen him in clothes other than his pajamas, and bedhead.

He was wearing a navy blue trench, what looked like black slacks and a white button up, and leather shoes. A dripping umbrella hung from his arm.

He was also carrying two bags of what seemed to be groceries.

Roderich entered, but he left the door open. Gilbert looked awkwardly to the stairs and peeked inside.

Finally, he followed suit and closed the door behind him, watching Roderich calmly put groceries away; sugar cubes, a loaf of bread, and little bite-sized cakes, among other things.

Gilbert put the thermos on the counter next to him and yawned. "It never really occurred to me that you ate."

"I'm not a vampire."

"I know," he said, leaning his elbows on the counter. "But I've only ever seen you drink coffee. Just one of those things."

Roderich, in fact, began pouring the coffee Gilbert made into a mug. He flicked his gaze up to Gilbert.

"Would you like some?" he asked flatly.

"No, thanks."

With that, Roderich slipped out of his trench coat and hung it in the hall closet.

Gilbert couldn't help but find himself staring. He looked… good. The shirt and pants were neat and tailored, and the noble way he held himself lent to the image. For once, his hair wasn't sticking out in every which direction. It was combed back, with the few stray pieces falling to the front. He wore a leather watch around his wrist, and Gilbert spent some time on his hands – long fingers, pianist's fingers.

"What do you want tonight, Gilbert?" he asked, seating himself at the piano bench.

Gilbert swallowed and picked at his fingernails. "Oh, uh, nothing." Then a thought came to him. "Wait. How did you leave to go to the store?"

Did Roderich ever smile? "Through the front door."

"I never saw you leave."

"I didn't know I had to check in with you first."

Gilbert pursed his lips, electing not to respond. He moseyed over to the couch, and laid himself down. He looked around.

"You don't have a TV."

"I don't watch it."

Gilbert bobbed his foot over the arm of the couch. He saw a bookcase, but couldn't read the spines. "You've got a lot of books."

"I like to read."

Gilbert hummed.

He craned his neck to see what Roderich was doing. He was organizing the staff paper, reading over the pages and shuffling them into place.

"What're you doing?"

"Reading over my notes." He picked up a pencil and wrote something before shuffling that page too. "I make mistakes sometimes when I'm tired."

"Is that what you do all night?"

"Do you always ask questions?"

"I'm a curious guy."

"Apparently."

Gilbert relaxed again, closing his eyes to the sound of Roderich writing on paper and shifting on the bench.

Gilbert fell asleep.

He woke with a start, forgetting his dream as soon as he woke. Rubbing his face and groaning, he slowly sat up, blinking in the light. Roderich was sitting in the armchair, reading.

"What time is it," he asked thickly through sleep.

Roderich glanced at his watch. "3:30."

"Shit," he breathed. "I'm sorry. I'll go home."

"The buses don't run this late," he said. "The first one is at 5:30."

Was that an invitation to stick around?

"Yes, you can stay here until then."

Gilbert scratched the back of his head. Should he get more sleep?

"If you're hungry, help yourself."

Now that he mentioned it…

"Thanks," he said, pushing himself off the couch and heading for the fridge.

It wasn't exactly fully stocked, not-so surprisingly.

"You don't eat much, do you?"

Gilbert scanned the contents and then checked the cabinets he saw him putting food into. There was a container of biscotti, and Gilbert snagged one.

"You like sweets, don't'cha?" he said, chewing.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you've got pastries, cakes, and cookies galore. Not a very balanced diet."

Roderich pointedly ignored him.

Gilbert leaned a hip against the counter. "Let me hear you play something."

"No."

"Come on, I thought you did this for a living."

"Do _you_ work every moment of your waking hours?"

Gilbert swallowed the rest of his biscotti. "Good point." He wandered over to the piano, studied it a moment. He wanted to stroke the pristine ivory keys…

"Don't touch." Gilbert froze. "Please."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Sorry."

"I have a question, Gilbert."

He turned around. Roderich had closed his book, using his finger as a bookmark. "Yeah?"

"How did you come to be in Vienna?"

A slow smile crept onto his face. "How did you know I'm not from here?"

Roderich's eyes flicked around the room. "Elizabeta never mentioned you before. Suddenly, you're here."

He directed his smile out the window. "I'm from Berlin, originally." He shrugged. "I move around a lot."

"That's pretty vague."

"You're one to talk."

Roderich didn't reply.

"Okay, my turn."

This time he raised an eyebrow at him.

"Who do you compose for?"

He hesitated, but he said, "The Vienna Symphony Orchestra."

"Wow. Are you popular?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Come on, you know."

"I'm sorry, I don't," he said. "How do you know Elizabeta?"

Gilbert blinked. "Smooth transition."

Roderich chewed on his lip. "Well, if we're asking questions… I wanted to know."

Gilbert laughed. "She's been my best friend since high school. We tried dating for a bit but realized it wasn't for us."

Roderich was giving him an odd look, he couldn't decipher it. "Hmm," was all he said. He went back to reading his book.

Gilbert spied his phone lying on the countertop. He casually walked back to the kitchen, checking to make sure Roderich was occupied before carefully unlocking it and inputting his number. Then he put Roderich's number in his phone and turned around, the picture of innocence.

He laid himself on the couch again and folded his arms beneath his head. "I'm going to nap. Wake me up at 5:30?"

"Sure," Roderich replied.

.

"Gilbert."

Something shook him.

"Gilbert."

He opened his eyes in time to see Roderich quickly pull his hands away. "Hmm?" he mumbled.

"The buses have started running again."

He cracked his back as he sat up. "Mmm. Thanks."

"Can I get you something to eat before you go?"

Gilbert smiled. "No thanks, Liz still has food. Reminds me, I need to restock before she gets back."

"When does she get back?"

Gilbert did the math. "Five more days, at the end of the week." A thought came to him, and he realized Roderich was being oddly talkative. Offering him food? Twice that morning? Gilbert watched as he returned to the piano, reading over the sheets.

He grabbed his pack and swung it onto his shoulder. "See you later, Roddy," he called.

He laughed when Roderich aimed a glare at him, and left without another word.

The sun was just starting to rise, the air chilly from the night. He tucked himself into a row on the bus and watched people leave their buildings, the start of another workday.

Gilbert dropped his pack inside Liz's apartment and collapsed onto the couch to fall asleep once again.

He woke up hours later to the sound of his phone ringing.

He answered groggily.

"Gilbert? Are you awake?" Liz said.

He cleared his throat. "Liz, hey, what's up? How's your mom doing?"

"She's doing better. She'll be out of the hospital in a matter of days, but I'm afraid I can't stay to help her at home."

"Why not?"

"I'll already be gone for two weeks, I need to get back to work."

"Are you kidding? I've got the café on lock. We're doing fine."

She laughed. "I also need to make sure my apartment hasn't combusted."

"You put so little faith in me."

"I know how you can get," she retorted. "What have you been up to?"

Roderich's face flashed in his mind and his name on the tip of his tongue, but Gilbert swallowed it back. That would have opened up a big can of worms that Gilbert didn't want to get into over the phone. No, let him have his secret a few days more at least. He wanted to be able to sit her down and get to the bottom of this.

"Oh, you know," he said. "Sleeping. Eating."

She clicked her tongue. "Shouldn't you be exploring? Vienna is new to you, there's tons of things to do."

"Yeah, I'll get to it. What if I want someone to go with, eh?" he hinted.

"Go make a friend," she laughed.

Well, he sort of already did.

"I've got to go, Gilbert. I just wanted to check in."

"Okay. Give my best to your mom."

"I will. Talk soon."

Gilbert removed the phone from his ear and stared at the screen. He tapped his way to his contacts, finding the name, "Roddy" and his number below. Gilbert smiled to himself. He never did ask what time he usually goes to sleep, but he figured it was safe.

He sent a text, " _Goodnight, Roddy_ " with a trail of winking and grinning emojis.

He wasn't really expecting a response, whether because he was already asleep, or because Roderich didn't seem like the texting type, but as he stared at his phone, he was surprised to see the ellipses flash below his text.

It went away a second later, meaning he'd stopped typing. Gilbert waited, but the ellipses didn't return. He smiled to himself anyway, simply glad he got somewhat of a response.

Knowing that, he went about showering, pulling clean clothes on, fixing something to eat. He was brushing his teeth when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Toothpaste dripped from his goofy grin as he read the reply from Roderich. " _Good morning, Gilbert._ " it read. No emojis, but Gilbert didn't mind.

.

Each night after, Gilbert spent an hour or two with Roderich before heading home. And since Roderich didn't have a TV, Gilbert perused his bookshelves, finding himself reading his books, albeit at a slow pace, but it passed the time nonetheless. If Gilbert ruminated on it hard enough, he'd find it odd that he even managed to start reading like this in the first place. He was usually too active to be hanging around someone like Roderich, but night after night found him reading one of Roderich's books, his feet bouncing over the arm of the couch, content to be in silence with him while Roderich did his own thing.

Gilbert still didn't really know what that was. Roderich had a certain routine, he'd noticed that right away. He'd open the door for him, sleepy and bleary-eyed. Then he'd accept the coffee and make himself a cup, drinking it slowly in his pajamas. Then he'd shuffle to his bedroom, dress and clean himself up, and reenter the room, his prim and proper self again.

One thing began to niggle at Gilbert: he hadn't yet heard him play the piano. For claiming to be a composer, he thought he'd get to hear more of it.

Roderich's only response to that question was, "I like to read and do other things first. By the time I start, you're gone."

It seemed like a insubstantial excuse to him, but for some reason Gilbert didn't want to prod him too much.

Being around Roderich made him recall Liz telling him to get out more. Did Roderich ever go anywhere, besides the grocery store once in a while?

"Not really," was his reply. "I'm on a deadline, and composing from scratch takes a while, you know."

Gilbert pouted. The more he thought about it, hardly anything worth seeing was open at night, so what was the point in going out? Did he go to bars?

"No."

Well, then where _did_ he go?

"To the symphony hall, to check in with my musical director."

How often was that?

"Not often."

That was vague.

"There's really nothing more to it."

Gilbert drummed his fingers on his leg. Not to worry, he thought. He had a plan.

And the plan went into action the night before Liz would return.

He'd texted Roderich that morning, hopefully before he went to sleep, and while Gilbert was getting ready.

" _Hey, I need to go to the store tonight to stock Liz's pantry. Come with me._ "

He didn't get a reply until an hour later, and it said, " _Why do I need to come?_ "

Gilbert was expecting that though. " _Just thought we could go do something._ "

" _And the supermarket is doing something?_ "

" _I mean it's out of the house._ "

The reply didn't come right away, and Gilbert waited, imagining him rolling his eyes and sighing.

" _Fine._ "

Gilbert grinned.

And so he showed up at Roderich's doorstep with a coffee cup in his hand.

"Mornin' Roddy, you ready?" he asked when he opened the door.

He seemed to be dressed, and his hair was combed, but his eyes were still sleepy. They flickered between the cup and Gilbert's smiling face.

"Yes, this is for you. I made you a to-go cup. Two sugars, just how you like it."

Roderich grunted but took the cup, wrapping his hands around it as they walked down the stairs.

"Which store do you go to?" he asked. "I haven't really had a chance to find one."

"It's down the street."

Gilbert let him lead the way, falling a half-step behind him. He watched him as they walked; the way he walked with his free hand in his coat pocket, his eyes darting left and right, yet his expression mostly impassive. His eye caught on that little beauty mark at the corner of his lips. He hadn't noticed it in the beginning – he was mostly trying not to look suspicious after walking into his apartment – but once he did notice it, it became something he found himself absently staring at often. Like now.

Gilbert shifted his gaze away as they entered the store, glad to have something to distract himself with. He grabbed a basket and began walking up and down the aisles, filling it with the things he'd finished off from Liz's pantry.

Roderich was mostly silent during the trip, his hands in his pockets. Gilbert took over the conversation, talking about what kinds of meals he could possibly cook up in the future.

"Hello? Roddy?"

Roderich flinched, coming back from wherever he was in his head. "Hmm, what?"

"I said I'll come over and cook dinner some night," he said, amused at the way his face blinked back into focus. "Though I guess you'd consider it breakfast. I can do breakfast for dinner, it's the best kind of dinner."

"You don't have to."

"But why not? You get a free meal out of it, your kitchen gets a workout, and I get to eat after my shift."

Roderich said nothing, and Gilbert turned away, but he didn't miss the way the fabric at his coat pockets strained, his hands clenching inside them.

"Are you done, then?" Roderich asked next.

Gilbert coughed. "Yeah. We can go."

On the way back to Liz's, Gilbert carried one bag and Roderich carried the other. On the bus, Roderich cleared his throat.

"How was your shift?" he asked.

"Oh, I didn't go to work today."

"You didn't?"

"Believe it or not, I get days off too," he laughed.

Roderich made a face. "So you could have gone shopping at any point today, yet you wait until the stores almost close to drag me along?"

Gilbert's laugh turned nervous. "Well, it's the thought of inviting you that counts."

"You didn't invite me so much as try to convince me."

Gilbert tried an innocent grin. "You still came."

Roderich's lips twitched. They _twitched_. Gilbert almost got a _smile_. He considered that a win and let a comfortable silence blanket them until they got off at their stop.

Roderich's eyes darted around them as they walked the two blocks to her apartment.

"Have you ever been to Liz's place?"

"No," he said.

Roderich followed behind him as they climbed the stairs and Gilbert fished the key out of his pocket.

"Really, Roddy," he said, flashing him a smile. "Thanks for coming with me."

He watched in fascination as Roderich's eyes widened oh so slightly and he pulled his lip between his teeth.

Gilbert opened the door to find the lights on. He didn't leave them on when he left.

"Oh, Gil! You went shopping, thanks. I was about to say, you really ate everything, huh?"

Gilbert's stomach dropped and his eyes flashed to Roderich.

Liz gave him an odd look. "Gil? What's–"

Then she saw who was behind him. Her mouth fell open at the same time her brows bent together. "Roderich?"

Roderich froze, almost like he shut down.

"Rod–?" Gilbert began before he suddenly kicked back into gear.

He dropped the grocery bag. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice catching. "I have to go, I have to–"

Roderich turned and was down the hall before Gilbert could call him back. Gilbert felt his head start to spin. He cast a bewildered look at Liz, but she was somewhere between shock and anger.

"Good job, Gilbert," she said low. "You've done it now."

* * *

 **Nothing too big happened, I know, but it's necessary build-up in any case!  
** **Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

Liz glared accusingly at him. He didn't understand anything anymore. Roderich had just walked out faster than Gilbert could close his gaping mouth. Liz was angry at him. Gilbert didn't like not knowing things.

He made an irritated sound in the back of his throat and swung the door open, intent on finding Roderich.

"Gilbert, leave him be," came Liz's stern voice.

He stopped and whipped back on her. "What just happened?" he demanded.

Liz closed her eyes and breathed out a sigh. "Gilbert, I'll explain as much as I can to you, just please, don't go after him right now."

Torn, but wanting information as efficiently as possible, he reluctantly closed the door and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You were supposed to be back tomorrow."

"I know," she said. "But I couldn't get a ticket for tomorrow, and my only option was tonight. I texted you to apologize for coming back on short notice."

Gilbert checked his phone. Damnit, she had texted him. It had been while Gilbert was with Roderich, saying that she'd arrived back in Vienna. He bit his lip, he couldn't fault her that oversight.

"Fine. But I would like to know, now, what is going on with you and Roderich."

Liz blinked. "Nothing is going _on_ with us."

"You bring him coffee everyday. He seems pretty secretive about you, and then he sees you and bolts."

She sighed. "He didn't bolt just because it was me."

"Then?"

"Gilbert, this is really complicated, so I would appreciate it if you'd let me speak first."

Gilbert sat himself on the couch. "Fine. Go ahead."

"Before I start, when did you start… seeing him?"

"A few days after you left for Budapest. I'm too curious for my own good."

"I know," she muttered. "How often have you been seeing him?"

"Every night after my shift."

Liz rubbed her temples. "Amazing," she breathed, as if to herself. She shook her head. "I really shouldn't be the one to tell you all this. It's not my life to explain to you."

"Well, he won't tell me, or claims he doesn't know, about anything that's going on, so _somebody's_ got to fill me in."

She hung her head, then held Gilbert's gaze. "Roderich has severe anxiety, at least he did when I first met him. I don't think it's so bad anymore, especially if he actually went out with you."

The word settled in Gilbert's brain. Roderich has _anxiety_. He let Liz keep talking, but little things were starting to fall into place the more she spoke.

"We went to university together. That's how I met him. His anxiety was pretty bad back then, and with it came the insomnia, but he was best when playing his music. I knew a little piano, so that's how we bonded. We actually ended up dating, but not for long. He was still my friend, and I used to worry when it got bad enough that he'd get new medications for it. I guess you can say that's when I started taking care of him in the way I do now. It's my way of monitoring him.

"He did get a residency with the Symphony, and changed his sleep schedule, and for a few years now it's been sort of steady. As you probably figured out, I don't see him often anymore, and since he was never the type to need to keep in constant contact I never pried. I became accustomed to his routine, so I could pick up on anything amiss."

She paused, running her fingers through her hair. "Gilbert, I don't know what to tell you. I can't stop you from spending time with him, but you need to understand that he's _always_ thinking, stressing. Everything he says, he's thought of all the possible ways to say it beforehand. He's awake at night because it makes him anxious to be around crowds of people in the day, worried that something might go wrong. Like I said, I haven't seen him much in the past months, so I can't say for sure, but he's good at disguising it all very carefully. When he ran out of here a few minutes ago? It was probably from the shock of an unexpected situation. He wasn't prepared for it."

Hesitating before speaking, his darting eyes betraying his cool, the clenching fists. It was starting to make sense. The fact that he didn't appear to eat much, and never in Gilbert's presence. The fact that he was reluctant to leave the house.

And then it hit him. The fact that he hadn't yet heard Roderich play piano. Was Roderich anxious about him hearing?

But then there were the things that didn't exactly line up with Liz's information. The fact that he'd let Gilbert stay, early on too. How sometimes Roderich replied to him without hesitation. It had begun to feel easier and easier to talk to him.

Gilbert… Gilbert liked spending time with him. He couldn't explain it for himself yet, but where he would mostly likely have found a bar to frequent after work, instead he looked forward to reading Roderich's books. He'd wanted to cook him a full breakfast-dinner, but maybe he'd have to wait on that now.

No, his first thought, after Liz finished, was that he needed to make sure Roderich was okay.

He stood and resolutely made his way to the door.

"Gilbert–"

"Liz, I just need to make sure he's at home."

Her eyes looked tired, and her lips lifted in a small smile. "Thank you."

Uneasiness rolled in his stomach as he returned to the café and Roderich's apartment. He searched the windows above the café, but he couldn't see any lights from the sidewalk. He climbed the stairs and knocked on Roderich's door.

"Roderich? It's me, Gil."

No answer.

"Can you… can you just give me some kind of sign that you're in there? I'll leave after, I promise."

He waited a while longer, not sure he was going to get anything. But minutes later, a small sheet of paper was pushed underneath the door.

 _I'm sorry._

Gilbert picked it up, eyes tracing over his script. He patted his pockets – he didn't have a pen. Gilbert took a deep breath and folded the note into his pocket.

"Thank you," he said to the door.

Gilbert walked away, not sure exactly what to do next, but knowing that he needed to see Roderich again soon.

.

Gilbert spent his next shift in a state of half-focus and half-distraction. Whenever he met Liz's eyes, a flash of understanding passed between them, though they never said anything outright.

At the end of the night, Liz took out the purple thermos and started the coffee, but Gilbert said, "Liz, I'll do it. Please."

She bit her lip, but smiled, giving him the coffee.

Gilbert went up and stood before the door. He didn't want to yell for him, in case he was sleeping, so he tried the doorknob. Locked. He remained for an unsure second, but he finally put the coffee on the table, like it always had been, and went back downstairs.

"I don't know how much time to give him," he told Liz.

She, too, looked conflicted. "Try again tomorrow."

The next day he texted Roderich in the morning, " _Can I come in tonight?_ "

He didn't get an answer all day, and he was checking his phone like a madman. But the thermos had been returned that morning, so there wasn't any immediate cause for concern. Gilbert stood in front of his door with the coffee that night. Roderich hadn't answered, but he still wanted to try one last time.

" _I'm outside_ ," he said, to which there was no reply.

Gilbert told himself he'd give it one more day, despite the rolls in his stomach, and left the coffee on the table.

.

"I haven't gotten anything, Liz," he told her as they closed. "If he doesn't answer this time, I'm going in." He wasn't sure how he was going to get through a locked door, but he'd figure that out later.

He asked Liz if she was going to join him.

She smiled and shook her head. "I trust you," she said.

So Gilbert found himself in front of a locked door, with no answered texts, and no discernable clue that Roderich was awake in there. He couldn't just bust the door down, and he wasn't particularly skilled in lock picking…

At that moment he spotted a key, just poking out from underneath the door. He sighed in relief and retrieved it, unlocking the door and entering into a dark, silent apartment. He flicked on the lights and put the coffee on the counter.

Roderich had actually left stuff lying out on the counters. Paper littered not only the piano but the floor around it, and the coffee table. It was mildly alarming, only because Gilbert had never seen the place less than pristine.

He decided he'd wait, and went down the dark hallway to use the bathroom. He passed by Roderich's bedroom, and saw him lying in bed through the cracked door.

After he finished in the bathroom, while washing his hands, he noticed prescription bottles lying on the counter. He swallowed a small wave of apprehension. He'd never seen them lying out before, and they appeared hastily tipped over.

He read one bottle, a prescription sleeping pill for insomnia. It was half empty. He picked up the next bottle. It was a prescription anti-anxiety medication. He read the label and thought his heart had stopped for a second. The bottle warned not to take the pills with a sleeping pill, as it could produce deadly results.

Liz's words sprung to his mind – the insomnia that came with anxiety, how she'd worried about him being on the meds.

Gilbert stumbled out of the bathroom and was nearly panting when he burst into Roderich's bedroom.

Roderich was lying in bed, one arm dangling over the side, his face half-buried in the pillow. Gilbert could hear his heartbeat thud in his ears.

"Roderich?" He grabbed his shoulders and flipped him over. "Roderich! Wake up!" he repeated, each time more desperate.

It wasn't until he shook him by the shoulders that Roderich woke with a fitful start. His lip curled up and he blinked into the dark.

Gilbert inhaled deeply, pushing it out as he sunk to his knees at the bedside, his arms falling weakly to his sides.

Roderich came to, sitting up suddenly. "Gilbert? What are you doing here?"

"You left a key."

Roderich pushed a hand through his hair, reaching for his glasses on the side table.

"Roderich," he said seriously. "Did you take both pills?"

"What?"

"Did you take the sleeping pill and the anxiety pill?"

It became evident in Roderich's eyes that he understood what Gilbert now knew.

"No, I didn't," he replied.

"Did you take either of them recently?"

He hesitated before saying, "The anxiety pill."

Gilbert sat back on his haunches and closed his eyes, breathing in and out after being scared practically to death.

He then slipped his arm underneath Roderich's, around his waist, and tugged him out of bed to his stuttered protests.

"Come on," he said. "We're going out to the main room."

"Gilbert, I can walk myself."

He complied, letting go and seeing that Roderich had slept in a wrinkled and rumpled button up shirt and boxers.

Wordlessly, Gilbert continued on into the kitchen, while Roderich dropped himself on the couch, his head falling back and his eyes closing.

Gilbert went about toasting two slices of bread, spreading jam on, filling a glass of water, and taking it over to him. He put it on the coffee table with a rattle and sat himself next to Roderich.

Roderich lifted his head and stared at it. "I'm not–"

"Hungry, I know. But I call bull. Eat."

Gilbert was sure he hadn't eaten much of anything. The contents of his fridge appeared completely unchanged since the last time he'd seen it, just a few days ago.

It seemed like forever before Roderich finally took the plate and slowly began taking small bites, all without looking at Gilbert. He didn't care about that though. He simply made sure he finished, out of the corner of his eye.

"Roderich," he started, but didn't exactly know what he wanted to say. He wanted to question him, he wanted to be angry. But he was mostly concerned. "Roderich, I'm sorry."

Roderich's eyes flashed to him, and just as quickly looked away. " _You're_ sorry?"

"Yeah, I am. I know I can be unaware of a lot of things, and I'm a little inexperienced with this…"

"Elizabeta told you."

"She told me what she could, yes."

"Then I still do not see how you're sorry. I'm the one who should be sorry, I'm the one who's like this."

"Don't say it like that–"

"It doesn't change the fact that it's true." Roderich swallowed and picked at his fingernails, like he did every time he spoke quickly without thinking. "I haven't had to take meds in months."

"It's okay."

"How do you know?" he mumbled.

"I don't know, Roddy," he said, gaze steady on him. "But I'm going to be here, if you want me to be."

Again, it was one of those things he wasn't expecting a response to, but Roderich surprised him by smiling softly down at his hands and Gilbert couldn't look away.

"Thank you, Gilbert."

He wanted to just move those stray pieces of hair that kept blocking his eyes, just reach out and do it fast. He didn't, of course.

"I have a request though," was what he went with instead.

Roderich's hands twitched. "What is it?"

"I'd like to hear you play sometime." He could now sense his hesitation about that particular issue. "It doesn't have to be now, or tomorrow, but… sometime."

Roderich then pushed his hair back with a hand, doing what Gilbert had wanted to moments ago.

"Okay."

* * *

 **This is a shorter chapter than what I've done so far, but I wanted to get it out before I won't be able to use my computer for at least a couple days. And because of that, I didn't want to leave it on a cliffhanger for once ;)**

 **Thanks for reading, in the beginning I said I wasn't sure where the story was going but I think I've got it worked out for the most part.**


	4. Chapter 4

Once Gilbert began cooking for Roderich, he became aware of how little he actually ate. The man didn't have much in his fridge and pantry anyway, and it was evident that he wasn't depleting it at an incredibly fast pace.

So Gilbert started making him his breakfasts when Roderich woke after his shifts, and he started making him meals to eat later, as his dinner when Gilbert would be waking up in the morning. But the meals did start off small.

For the week after Gilbert had seen him since being locked out he cooked up eggs and bratwurst, giving himself a larger portion than Roderich. He continued to bring the coffee but he asked him, "Should you really be drinking so much coffee?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Roderich replied while slowly eating his eggs.

"Doesn't it just make you… more hyped up?"

"I'm used to it."

Gilbert remained doubtful about that, but it wasn't like he could actually see it affecting him. For the most part, Roderich was a beast before he had his coffee. Afterward, he was much more tolerable – if being a slightly uppity prick meant tolerable. But Gilbert found that quite amusing about him. He had to remind himself of what Liz had said, that it was an automatic instinct, his way of covering up his anxiety.

At one point, Roderich somewhat nervously addressed his constant cooking.

"If you insist on cooking, I can pay you," he said.

Gilbert only smiled and replied, "No thanks, Roddy. I hardly spend money out like I did before, so I can do this."

It was because Gilbert hung out with Roderich nearly every day for a couple hours. Liz had started to expect Gilbert back closer to midnight, and sometimes she'd already be asleep.

Roderich still hadn't played for him yet. Gilbert was hoping he'd get to each time he came. But he didn't seem ready yet, and Gilbert didn't bug him anymore.

Things were steady. Gilbert liked being there, and Roderich gradually conversed with him more and more. Oftentimes, Gilbert brought his laptop to make up for the lack of a TV and he simply lounged with Roderich while he did his thing.

Things began to speed up the night Gilbert realized he'd forgotten his keys at home. He was closing with Lili and he patted his pocket for the café key. But his keyring, which had the café key, Liz's apartment key, and Roderich's key, wasn't there. And Liz wasn't there because she was out of town.

 _Shit_ , he grumbled. Only one option came to his mind, and he wondered if it were right to ask. He didn't have another option though. He let Lili lock up and took the coffee up to Roderich's.

He took a breath and got out his phone, calling him. He never usually called Roderich. Texting was easier for the both of them.

It took a few rings, because Roderich would be asleep of course, but finally he answered with a groggy, "Gilbert?"

"Yeah, I'm outside the door, and I forgot my keys."

A pause, then a tired sigh. "Coming."

Roderich hung up and a moment later his bleary eyes and bedhead opened up for him. Gilbert stifled a snicker.

He decided to go through their normal routine before asking. He cooked breakfast while Roderich took his coffee and got dressed.

Roderich was eating when he asked. He did it a little apprehensively, trying to appear more casual when a mild look of alarm passed Roderich's face.

"Can I ask you a huge favor, Roddy? It's related to me forgetting my keys."

Roderich watched him a moment before saying, "You can't get back into Liz's apartment?"

He scratched the back of his head and laughed. "Ah, no. She's out of town, tonight of all nights. I was hoping you'd let me stay here tonight."

Roderich cast his eyes down on his plate, mulling it over in the panicky way Gilbert learned he was prone to.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't see another–"

"No, it's fine," he said quickly. "You can stay."

Gilbert grinned, giddy inside. "Really?"

"Yeah," Roderich said, his eyes darting about but otherwise cool. "I… I've been practicing, and I guess… I guess this gives me an opportunity to play for you."

This he said with a straight face, but Gilbert knew it was big for him.

Gilbert surprised himself when he felt the urge to jump up and hug him. It probably wasn't a great idea at the moment, but he had begun feeling like that as of late. Wanting to hug him, wanting to fix his glasses on his face when he woke, wanting to lean against him when they sat on the couch together. If Gilbert really thought about it, it was kind of a problem; he'd gotten attached to Roderich. That was why Gilbert intentionally did _not_ think about it.

After breakfast, Gilbert proceeded as usual – seated on the couch, using his computer. It was Roderich who was moving about from kitchen to living room to his own room. Picking up stray clutter (there wasn't much), and fiddling with his staff paper. Gilbert watched him out of the corner of his eye, smiling lightly.

"If you want to wait another day or so…"

"No," Roderich said at last. "I'll do it."

"Just pretend I'm not here."

"I can't just do that," he replied dryly.

"Okay, then do you want me to pay attention or go about like I am?"

Roderich thought a minute. "Whatever you want."

"Alright," Gilbert said as he continued what he was doing on his laptop.

It was silent for a short while before he heard, and could see from his peripherals, Roderich sort himself out and begin. He really tried not to watch Roderich while he played, but it was hard the moment he heard the piano.

Roderich started with a piece that was slow at the beginning. He let him play a while before the melody really got going and Gilbert put aside his laptop to watch.

He could only see his profile, but Gilbert was surprised at how much calmer Roderich looked while playing. His eyelashes fluttered lightly as he was absorbed in the keys, but his brow wasn't bent or furrowed – entirely at peace. His long fingers seemed to float like gentle waves. The music was pulling something out of Gilbert. The music made him see that it truly was Roderich's power.

There were moments when Roderich closed his eyes completely, his fingers kept up as natural as breathing. His hair swayed slightly as he leaned forward and back, once again falling into his eyes, and once again Gilbert wanted to tuck them away.

Roderich slowed to a stop, and when his pinky lifted from the last key, he paused before shifting his eyes to Gilbert. Upon seeing that Gilbert was intently watching him, they shifted away again.

"Roddy that was…" he laughed lightly when Roderich's brow scrunched in anticipation. "That was amazing."

Roderich was one big sigh of relief. "It's an older piece," he said. "I made little improvements since I last played it."

"Either way…" Gilbert shook his head. "Thank you for playing it."

Roderich's lips quirked up ever so slightly. That was something else Gilbert noticed; smiles were less far between, and the way they curled his lips looked so appealing.

The little bell in Gilbert's head warning him that these thoughts were trouble rang again, but Gilbert was used to ignoring that these days.

"Do you mind if I work on my pieces?" he asked, his voice taking on a nervous note.

"No, no, do whatever you need to do."

"They're works in progress of course, so–"

"It's fine, Roddy, I understand." He smoothed it over by continuing, "I've always wondered how you do what you do. I'll just be here, and I'll probably just zone out," he laughed. "So don't worry about me."

"Okay," he replied quietly. Roderich resumed his work at the piano, bringing forth the staff paper with his notes on it.

In a short time, he began to play again. The piece was obviously different, but Gilbert stopped what he was doing to listen again. Though he disguised his wonder this time by keeping his laptop in front of him. He read nothing on the screen, all his attention on Roderich. When he peeked side glances he saw a much more thoughtful face, his lips pursing when deciding between notes, his brows bent studiously over the keys, and Gilbert could see the language of music constantly cycling through his head as he wrote.

His playing this time around was mostly stops and starts. Starting sequences over and over, only to stop at certain points where the music needed to be changed or written. And it might have gotten repetitive, but Gilbert found it soothing.

Eventually he abandoned his computer altogether and folded his arms over the couch arm, his chin resting there as he watched Roderich work. As the hour rolled on, his eyelids grew heavier, lulled to sleep by the music. He curled into the cushion tucked in the corner and was promptly out like a light.

.

Gilbert was having one of those dreams that felt like he was falling, and he jerked awake, eyes squinting in the light – the electric light. The world outside the windows was still dark.

He pushed himself up and the edge of a blanket fell from his shoulders into his lap. He stared at it, wondering if…

"I forgot to give it to you before," Roderich said. "Also, I'm sorry if my playing made you fall asleep."

"No, no," he said quickly. "I love – it's just very nice to hear, and I was tired anyway. You didn't do anything."

Roderich dropped his shoulders, sighing out. He was seated on the piano bench still, turned a little to face him. He was giving him a peculiar look.

"Ah, Gilbert?"

Gilbert rubbed his face. "Yeah?"

"Are… are you alright?"

He didn't know exactly how he felt, and wondered why Roderich would ask.

He asked him, and Roderich replied, "Well, you were talking in your sleep. You mentioned a Ludwig."

Gilbert felt his heart sink. "I did?"

"You don't have to talk about it," Roderich said.

Gilbert smiled. "Thanks, Roddy." Roderich bit his lip and glanced down at the keys. "I had a dream that I was falling," he added, the dream coming back to him.

"Falling dreams can indicate loss of control, insecurity and reckless behavior."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry… I delved into dream interpretation a few years ago."

He laughed. "I wasn't expecting that." Loss of control, insecurity, and reckless behavior, huh? "It's funny you mention it though. That's probably a very good interpretation."

Roderich was watching him, and the more he watched him back the more he felt that pressure rise in his chest–

"I should have given you the bed," Roderich said suddenly, making him blink. "It's not like I'm using it at night. That must not be too comfortable."

Gilbert put the blanket aside and stretched. "Next time, yeah?"

"You're not going back to sleep?"

"No, I guess I'm a little too… wired." He stood and walked over to the windows, standing next to Roderich while he leaned slightly away, gazing up at him. Dawn was breaking at the horizon. "Do you want to go for a walk? The park is close, isn't it?"

"It's closed."

"It's open from dawn to dusk. Look, there's dawn."

Roderich looked unsure, but there was that slight eagerness in his eye that Gilbert had begun to recognize.

"Okay," Roderich finally said.

Gilbert pulled on his jacket, watched Roderich slip his on with a scarf.

"Here," he said, bringing Gilbert a black scarf, pointedly _not_ looking at him. "It's chilly out."

Gilbert grinned. "Thanks."

He wrapped the scarf around his neck, and was hit with Roderich's scent. He realized he hadn't yet been close enough to him to really catch it. It was subtle, like him he supposed, and light and clean and – he laughed softly to himself – a little like coffee.

"What is it?" Roderich asked.

"Nothing," he said.

Roderich's brows bent together, but they left the apartment, walking together outside into the dawn chill.

The closest park was a short walk away. This trip was like their usual weekly walks to the grocery store, side-by-side, hands stuffed into pockets, only this time they'd gone out in the morning instead of when the sky was dark and not many were out. The first stirrings of morning commuters was underway. But this seemed enough to put Roderich on edge.

"You don't go out in the morning, do you?"

"No. Not unless it's for work."

Gilbert casually steered them to a less populated section of the park – of which commuters walked down the main paths.

"When is Elizabeta supposed to be back?" Roderich asked.

"This morning. Later, though."

Gilbert watched morning joggers run by.

"I've been wondering, Roddy, when is your composition supposed to be done?"

Roderich sighed, his breath clouds of steam. "As a matter of fact, it's supposed to be finished in the next few weeks."

"Really?"

"It doesn't feel like it's almost finished though."

"They never do."

"I mean, I suppose every deadline feels like this. Feeling like I'll never make it, but of course I do. I can't help it, because there's always a what-if. _What if_ I actually don't make it this time? That's what's really… worrying," he trailed off, biting his lip. He said no more and looked the other way.

The corner of Gilbert's lips lifted in a quirked smile. He gently bumped his shoulder into Roderich's. He looked over questioningly, but Gilbert had already turned his head.

They walked on, the sun climbed higher, the streets became more active. Gilbert was starting to fade again, from the few hours of sleep and the exercise, and when he yawned, Roderich said, "Should we go back?"

"Sure. I'll get some more sleep."

"Then I'll write some more."

They returned to his apartment and Roderich handed him the blanket on the couch.

"Here," he said. "Take it with you into the room."

Gilbert blinked tiredly. "I can nap right here."

"Why, when I'm not using the bedroom right now?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Now go."

Gilbert grinned. "Yes, Mom." He dropped his pack and reminded Roderich, "Don't forget your dinner in the fridge."

Roderich was sat at the piano, already looking over his papers. "I won't," he said.

Roderich's bedroom was similar to the main room; furnished in dark woods, a dark bedspread, and another Persian rug. His curtains were dark too, which kept out most of the light.

Gilbert kicked off his shoes and lay down, folding his hands behind his head on the pillow. With the piano drifting in from the other room, a more comfortable cushion, and the sleepiness tugging at him, he drifted off fast, unaware that his phone was ringing in the other room.

.

Two voices woke him. He didn't want to wake up at first, but the sound of a woman's voice perked at his ears. Gilbert swung himself out of bed and staggered into the living room to see Liz perched on the couch with a cup of tea.

She was suppressing a snicker. "Good morning, Gil."

"When did you get back?" he said, clearing his throat.

"Just a little while ago. I found your keys on the counter, so I figured you must be here. I called too, but you never picked up."

Gilbert searched his pockets. Liz held up his phone.

"Oh. I missed it, I guess."

"Mmhm. Anyway, I thought I'd stop by, just to make sure Roderich hasn't killed you yet."

Gilbert pouted. He also caught the way Roderich's eyes widened in panic, or confusion. "I'm not that bad. Besides, Roddy already likes me," he said with a wink, and was amused by the way Roderich's confused expression turned flat at his joking.

Gilbert started gathering his belongings, stuffing them into his pack and preparing to leave with Liz.

"Did you eat your dinner?" he asked.

Roderich rolled his eyes. "Yes, I did."

"Alright. See you tonight."

They left, and descending the stairs to the foyer, they waved a hello to the morning crew inside the café. Out on the street, Gilbert asked her, "So, what were you guys talking about?"

Liz flashed him a smug look. "Wouldn't you like to know? We talked about his composition, what I've been up to… and you."

"Me?" he asked, surprised.

"Only good things, I promise," she said with a wink.

Gilbert huffed. "Did he really eat?"

"He was as I came in, yes."

"Good. Sometimes he doesn't. He _forgets_ , he says. When he _forgets_ it usually means something's been bothering him. And he hasn't really wanted to talk yet, so I can't do much more than make sure he gets food in him."

Liz sighed. "Gilbert," she said, her tone implying a lengthy speech. But she shook her head. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"I may never know why, but ever since you started helping Roderich you've made a big difference."

Gilbert looked away, slightly bashful. "I only really make him food."

"And that's a lot, trust me. It's important. Don't downplay yourself, you're doing more for him than I ever could work up the nerve to do."

"I guess my general pigheadedness worked in our favor."

Liz laughed. "Not pigheaded. Just persistent. In a good way." Her voice then took on a serious tone. "I have to warn you, Gil, things might start getting a little chaotic."

He cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"

"His deadline is coming up. Don't be surprised if he doesn't sleep or eat much. He'll be like a madman at that piano."

"More than he already is?"

Liz nodded. "Just keep doing what you're doing – that's a lot more than simply feeding him, you know."

"What do you mean?"

She smiled. "I don't need to tell you." And she left it at that.

.

Gilbert didn't exactly have a benchmark for "chaotic." Now he did. It started when Gilbert came into work a few days after Liz's warning.

He'd had a pleasant morning – a pancake breakfast, a light grocery shopping trip, a few catching-up emails with Francis. His mood changed when he walked into Nocturne and could hear the sound of a piano, playing fiercely and in staccato stops and starts, through the ceiling.

His brows bent together, eyes locking with Liz's unsettled gaze, and she sighed.

"Has he–?"

"All day," came Liz's solemn answer.

"All day," Gilbert repeated. "You're kidding me."

She shook her head. "Gilbert, I told you this would happen. Just wait until you can go up there. I doubt he'll talk, especially at this point, but…"

Gilbert made an irritated huff. "I know, I know. But he is sleeping tonight, sleep schedule be damned."

Liz only bit her lip, worriedly.

When Gilbert was able to climb the stairs that night, he threw the door open and low and behold, there was Roderich seated at the piano, hunched over the keys, scribbling on his propped up staff paper. His eyes were wide in that way that indicated no sleep and a one-track intense focus.

"Roderich."

It was like he wasn't even there.

"Roderich, I'm talking to you."

"Yes, Gilbert, what do you want?" His tone was slightly terse, mostly detached.

"What do I want? I want to know why you haven't slept since yesterday!"

"What makes you think I haven't slept?"

Gilbert's jaw dropped open. "I'm not deaf. You've been playing non-stop since I left you last night."

"You're wrong. I did sleep after you left."

"For how long?"

A hesitation. A hesitation that clearly betrayed his attempt at persuasion. "A little while."

"How _long_ is a little while?"

Roderich continued on, giving no answer.

 _Not long enough, evidently._

"I bet you haven't eaten either."

Suddenly, Roderich whipped his head around, a glare set into his eyes and a near-snarl on his lips. "Gilbert, I don't think you understand the pressure I'm under right now."

Gilbert could feel his argumentative side well up in his chest. "Maybe not, but I know you can't possibly do much sleep-deprived and hungry."

"This is how I work," he shot back. "If you don't like it, then leave."

Gilbert wanted to say many things. "Fine, I will!" or "No, I won't!" But with both colliding and wrenching his heart, he settled for something in the middle.

Gilbert marched into the kitchen, quickly whipped up toast and jam, and held it in front of Roderich, the memory of him doing this same thing all those months ago coming back to him.

"Eat this first. Then I'll leave."

Roderich, a bit frazzled, stared him down before relenting, eating it, and handing the plate back with little more than a glare.

Gilbert put it in the sink and said no more. He left, closing the door harder than necessary behind him.

.

It was the same situation as the previous day. Gilbert arrived at the café, and Roderich's piano could be heard as intently as ever, all through the afternoon. Gilbert was nearly steaming, and it took him extra effort not to scowl at customers.

"Are you going back up there again?" Liz asked.

"He doesn't want me around, so I won't bother him."

"Gilbert…"

"No, Liz. I'll let him do his thing. I don't care."

"That's not true and you know it."

Gilbert stubbornly said nothing.

Just before they tossed out the day's leftovers, he snatched a couple scones and gave them to Liz.

"If you're going up there, make sure he eats these. I'll wait for you."

Liz took a deep breath and went upstairs. She returned moments later.

"I only gave them to him," she said by way of an explanation. "He didn't say anything."

Gilbert hadn't expected him to.

He also hadn't expected him to remain so resentful for a full week. After Roderich told him to leave him alone if he didn't like the way he did his work, Gilbert stubbornly started each shift intent on _not_ going up there. No, he'd give Roderich his time, send food up without bothering him, but otherwise leave him alone.

And it was hard. Gilbert had gotten used to seeing him everyday, and even though he was making the conscious decision _not_ to see him, he couldn't stop worrying. How long was this going to last? He wanted so much to go up there – to apologize or take action, he didn't know, but the longer he stayed away the more he grew concerned and the more he… missed him.

Gilbert needed a kick in the butt, and it came in the form of silence.

Silence as he entered Nocturne one day. No piano, like any other day before this debacle.

"It's either a good sign, or a bad sign," Liz told him. Gilbert's gut rolled.

At the end of his shift, Gilbert climbed the stairs by twos and pushed his way into the apartment.

All was quiet, and he tuned his ears to any little noise. The piano was a mess like always, but its occupant was missing. The plates that Liz and Gilbert had been sending up each night lay stacked and lying over the counters, the table, and one even on the floor.

"Roderich?"

He hoped to God he was sleeping.

Gilbert crossed the dark hall and slowly opened the door to his dark bedroom.

"Roderich, are you asleep?" he whispered. But Roderich was not in bed.

His heart began to race and Gilbert's eyes swept the room, and landed on the shape of a hunched back sitting on the floor on the other side of the bed. That hunched figure was rocking slightly.

Gilbert rushed around the bed and dropped to his knees in front of him.

"Roddy…"

Roderich was in pajama pants and a disheveled button-up. His arms were wrapped over himself, covering his ears, gripping his hair. His breaths were coming in short, uneven gasps.

Gilbert gently pried his arms away and cupped his face.

"Roddy, look at me," he said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. Roderich's eyes were wild in the dark. They were staring straight into Gilbert's, but he wasn't sure that he was actually seeing him. He could feel the tear streaks, still damp, on his cheeks.

"Come on, say something!"

Like he was suddenly startled out of a trance, Roderich flinched and his short gasps turned into hyperventilation. He began shaking, his hands twitching.

"No, no." Gilbert took a firm hold and with a racing pulse said, "Roddy, look at me. Good. Now breathe with me." He took an exaggerated deep breath in, waiting until Roderich had stuttered his way into a deep inhale. "And breathe out."

Roderich exhaled with him.

"In… out… in… out. Good. In. Out." Once Roderich was breathing normally, more or less, he asked, "Do you want me to get your pills?"

Roderich was still trembling between his hands, but he carefully nodded.

"Keep breathing, okay? I'll be right back."

Gilbert scrambled out of the room and retrieved the anxiety pills from the bathroom, as well as a small cup of water. He practically slid back into place in front of Roderich, helping him take the pill.

Once it was done, Roderich latched onto Gilbert's shirtfront with shaky fingers, pressed his forehead to his shoulder.

Gilbert wrapped his arms around Roderich and rubbed his back in small circles.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "You're okay."

His legs started cramping, so Gilbert lifted him off the floor the short way to the bed. Seeing as Roderich still had a vice grip on him, Gilbert ended up lying with him, curled in his arms with shuddering breaths. Gilbert kept him in sync by concentrating on taking deep breaths himself.

They breathed together, and Gilbert kept up soft assurances, "I've got you. You're okay now. I'm here," whispered into Roderich's hair.

Slowly, the trembling lessened until Roderich's hold on him went slack, his breaths evened in that telltale way, and a half-hour after taking the pill, Roderich fell asleep in Gilbert's arms.

Gilbert continued to stroke his hair, his back, and press his sleepy, mumbling lips to the top of his head as he, too, drifted to sleep, lulled by his own reassurances.

.

Gilbert woke to a dead arm, but he didn't care. Morning light crept through the cracks in the curtains and he stretched as much as Roderich wrapped around him would allow. Because he had, in fact, not moved all night. Roderich had maintained a sure hold, even in sleep, and as Gilbert slowly woke and took stock of which limbs were his he could feel the short, warm puffs of air on his collarbone.

He was content to drift off again, except for the sudden vibrating of his phone in his back pocket.

He swore to himself and carefully extricated himself from Roderich. It was easier than he thought; Roderich only curled into himself as Gilbert sat up next to him.

"Liz?" he half-whispered.

"Gilbert, is everything okay? I tried calling last night… what happened?"

Gilbert rubbed his eyes. "Do you think you can come over here?"

"Of course. I'll make breakfast."

"Thanks, Liz."

They hung up, and Gilbert put his phone on the side table, next to Roderich's glasses.

He slid down once more, propping himself up on one arm. His free hand touched Roderich's forehead, and tucked away the stray pieces of hair. He looked so peaceful like this, it was hard to imagine him the way he was the previous night. Even so, Gilbert couldn't forget.

He stayed there, watching Roderich breathe steadily, until Liz knocked softly on the door.

He kept the bedroom door cracked when he left, and opened the front door to a concerned-looking Liz.

He tried a reassuring smile.

"How…?"

"He's sleeping."

She bit her lip and nodded. Liz came in with food supplies and set herself up in the kitchen. Gilbert stood to the side.

"Liz, when I came in last night he… he was having a panic attack or an anxiety attack, I'm not sure. It scared the living hell out of me."

"I know what that's like."

"I feel so horrible. If I hadn't exploded at him then–"

"Gilbert, stop. What's important is that you were there, and that he's getting rest now."

"Probably the longest in at least a week."

A blanket of silence fell as Liz continued cooking and Gilbert glanced around helplessly. He returned to the bedroom, quietly peeking in, quietly stepped over to the side of the bed. Roderich lay curled like before. Gilbert slid to the floor, his head laid back against the bed.

He must have closed his eyes for less than ten minutes, but suddenly the steady breathing coming from the bed turned quick and harried. Gilbert pushed himself up to the bed in time for Roderich to jerk awake, swinging wide, desperate eyes around the room.

He grabbed his hand. "Hey, Roddy, it's me."

Roderich's fingers squeezed his hand and his gaze locked with Gilbert. Finally, he dropped his head to the pillow, slung his other arm over his eyes, and took a breath.

Gilbert didn't know what to say. Ask him about it? Pretend like it didn't happen? _That_ seemed impossible, all things considered.

So he decided to go with the safe, "Liz made breakfast. How about we go eat?"

"Elizabeta is here?"

"Yeah… she called this morning."

Roderich's arm fell away and he stared at the ceiling. Gilbert thought he wouldn't move, but he hauled himself up, weakly, and walked with Gilbert out of the room. Roderich didn't let go of his hand, and Gilbert didn't either. He knew Roderich would feel embarrassed, or self-conscious knowing that Gilbert, and now Liz, _knew_ what had happened.

He wondered exactly how much he was sacrificing of himself.

"Good morning, Roderich," Liz said pleasantly. "I'm making a full breakfast."

They sat on the couch, still not letting go. Roderich's eyes were trained on his lap.

Soon, Liz brought over plates for both of them, and that was when they reluctantly let go of the other's hand. She, too, sat in a chair, but before she could start eating, Roderich spoke.

"Gilbert, Elizabeta, you don't need to be here."

Gilbert swallowed hard, a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, but Liz sent him one sharp glare.

"Roderich, we want to be here," she said.

"I've only worried you."

Now her brow bent seriously. "That may be true, but do not say it like you meant to do it. It happened, Roderich, but it's not your fault." Her tone softened again. "We care about you."

Gilbert had his hand clenched in a fist. He had some _words_ for Roderich, but none of them needed to be said at the moment, and not in the way Gilbert wanted to say them. Exploding would do no good. It was obvious that despite Liz's words, Roderich didn't believe her. He still thought it _was_ his fault, that he _didn't_ deserve their care. The question on Gilbert's mind was how he could make him see that they did care and that he was deserving? It wasn't as easy as simply telling him.

Roderich ate slowly, with exhausted movements. Gilbert forced himself to finish most of the meal, and Liz collected their plates wordlessly.

She came up to Roderich, gave his cheek a brief peck, and said, "I need to go, but please, Roderich, call me if you need anything. You're not a bother."

He didn't respond.

She shared a look with Gilbert, and he was still feeling a little confrontational, but she silently imparted her warning against saying exactly what was on his mind.

Liz left, and it was back to the two of them.

"I'm tired," Roderich said, getting to his feet. "I'm going back to sleep."

Gilbert watched him trudge down the hall, clenching and unclenching his fist. He ultimately decided to follow, returning to the bedroom with speedy steps to find Roderich seated upright, gazing blankly toward the window.

He sat himself in front of him, deliberately relaxing his jaw, un-knitting his brow.

"Roderich."

He waited a full minute for him to look at him.

"You still blame yourself for _worrying_ us, of all things."

"What about it, Gilbert? I brought this on myself. I'm the one that pushed myself too far, so _I_ will deal with the consequences. There is no reason for you to be here."

In a sudden, quick movement, Gilbert closed the gap and grabbed Roderich, his hands on each side of his face. Roderich's startled eyes locked with his.

"I _care_ about you, Roderich." _So much_. "I don't care whose fault it is anymore. It's both of us – it's neither of us! The fact remains that as long as I am able to help you, I will."

Losing steam, Gilbert gently pushed his forehead into Roderich's. "Please, I–" his voice dropped to a whisper, to avoid the pressure in his tightening throat. "Please."

Roderich slid away from his forehead, only to curl himself into Gilbert once more. He slipped his arms around his waist and tucked his face into the curve of his neck and shoulder. He fit quite well there, considering that Roderich was an inch taller – not even a full inch, really, Gilbert would argue. Gilbert rested his cheek on top of his head.

"Whatever you need to finish your composition, I'll help you with it. I know the deadline is coming up. Just tell me," he said.

"I finished it."

Gilbert pulled away to cock his head, stare incredulously down at his closed eyes, his slim nose. "You what?"

"I finished. It's done."

The words sank in, and Gilbert breathed out a laugh. Roderich shifted just enough to aim a raised eyebrow at him. Gilbert tugged him down, and fell onto the pillow to startled noises from Roderich. He squeezed him just a little tighter.

"What are you doing awake then? Go back to sleep," he laughed.

"You're the one who dragged me out to the front."

"But that was to eat, and eating is important. _Now_ go back to sleep."

"Will…" Roderich stopped, turned his face back into Gilbert's shoulder.

"Yeah, Roddy?"

Roderich whispered, "Will… you stay?"

Gilbert smiled. He nuzzled his nose into Roderich's hair. "Of course. Liz's meals are very filling and I'm tired again."

Roderich snorted. He actually snorted.

His voice took on a serious note when he said, "Thank you, Gilbert."

"Anytime," he replied. A feeling came over him suddenly, and he jumped out of bed, to Roderich's wide, bewildered expression. "Just not when I need to pee. Be right back!"

Roderich rolled his eyes and huffed.

* * *

 **A long chapter to compensate for the last one. A little humor at the end to lift the mood from this... altogether less than joyful section. When in doubt, add humor.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **I don't imagine there will be many more chapters. One or two. Just a heads up :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Gilbert ended up sleeping over at Roderich's a lot more often – in a purely innocent manner, mind. And it came about naturally; Gilbert didn't need to ask and Roderich didn't expect him to. On the flip side, when _Roderich_ asked Gilbert was more than happy to oblige. It meant that Roderich was feeling especially uneasy that night. Sometimes there'd be a reason, sometimes there wouldn't. Gilbert didn't mind either way.

That little bell in Gilbert's head went altogether ignored – Gilbert would smash it with a hammer if he could. Not much changed in their… relationship. But what had changed, did so in significant ways. Whatever _relationship_ they had was almost entirely unspoken. It was simply unspoken fact that the nights Gilbert stayed over they'd cuddle into each other as they drifted off. It helped Roderich relax, and Gilbert wouldn't have it any other way, if he were being honest. It was unspoken that when they lounged on the couch, perhaps there'd be a head on a shoulder one moment, a leg thrown across a lap the next. They were comfortable.

Despite all this new unspoken physicality, the other side of their… relationship remained literally unspoken. That bell would have come in handy if Gilbert hadn't already condemned it to the grave.

Because it was doing Gilbert no good to sleep with Roderich in his arms, night after night, and have nothing to say to it. Sure, it felt good and natural, but it left him feeling more confused about where they stood. And if Gilbert wasn't owning up to it, then Roderich certainly wasn't either.

Yet, leave it to Roderich to constantly keep Gilbert on his toes. It started the day after The Night.

"After we argued, I spent nearly the entire week in a state of mild panic that gradually grew each day. I honestly can't tell you what I did during that whole week, it's mostly a haze in my memory. All I know is that eighty percent of the time I was writing music like a man possessed, and the other twenty percent I spent regretting everything I said to you. I convinced myself that I'd ruined everything, that I made you hate me, that my music wouldn't be as good because I was so worried about what I'd said to you. But I still finished the composition, only Lord knows how. It was finished but it did nothing to dispel the thoughts. If anything, finishing gave me less time to distract myself with composing and more time to dwell on my anxieties. I had pushed myself over the edge the night you found me. I was surprised you'd come, I gave up expecting you to."

This Roderich said softly to him across the pillow when they woke. It came unprompted. Gilbert had shifted when he woke, stretching and seeing the sunset outside. His waking up caused Roderich to shift, rub at his eyes, and take a deep breath.

Gilbert had lain there, just sort of… looking at him. It wasn't often he got to see Roderich's face this close up. The man was fine-boned, smooth and slim. He did have deep purple circles under his eyes, but that was no surprise given his week of insomnia.

Gilbert had pressed his lips together, just wanting to… lean in a tiny bit and… brush them over the point of his nose, or his closed eyes…

But then Roderich spoke suddenly, making Gilbert's heart skip a beat and draw back that miniscule distance. Roderich had explained what happened to cause the attack, in the longest uninterrupted speech Gilbert had heard thus far. He listened with a heavy heart, saddened at what Roderich had gone through alone and saddened at the thought that he _was_ part of the reason.

But the past was in the past now. After Liz's reprimands he made a promise with himself to stop blaming himself. And what could he say anyway, that he hadn't already proved by his simply being there in that bed with him? At least, he hoped Roderich knew it. That might be a mountain for him to climb, but Gilbert had nothing but time and desire.

Gilbert had been in Vienna for months now. He'd watched autumn pass and winter enter, all from the half-circle of windows of Roderich's apartment. Normally, his thoughts would start wandering to moving again, the next destination. He'd start idly browsing travel sites, looking for ideas for his next city, country, town. Maybe he'd start getting the itch to leave. Sometimes the itch didn't hit until a few more months, making it one of his longer stays. After all, Paris had only been two months.

Gilbert felt none of that now. He had no desire to be anywhere but Vienna. And it may have had to do with–

Who was he kidding? It had a lot to do with Roderich.

Not out of some noble sacrifice or guilt trip, and not because he felt like he owed something to Roderich – he would never tell Roderich this. He would only believe that he was keeping him there because of his anxieties. No, it was because Gilbert genuinely liked him, cared for him. Roderich would question this too, but they'd sort of already gone over this point.

Now that Roderich was done composing, he allowed himself to spend more free time out and about, albeit at unconventional hours in the morning and night, which also surprised Gilbert.

Roderich was now suggesting walks in the park, and it was on a walk early in the morning that Gilbert asked him what was next, now that he'd finished his composition.

"My director and I work on it," he said.

"I thought you were already done."

"I wrote it, yes, but think of it as a draft. We go over it together, augment what needs to be altered, ensure that it'll work for the orchestra."

"And then it goes out to the orchestra?"

Roderich nodded. "They rehearse, individually, for a few months, before we come back together for group rehearsal. Then it's the premiere."

"I can't believe I haven't asked this yet, but what have you composed?"

"A symphony and concerto. My second and fourth, respectively."

"Wow," Gilbert breathed. "Do you… do you perform any of your own pieces on stage?"

"No. I don't. As the composer I listen from the audience."

He supposed that was fortunate, for Roderich's sake.

"The first session with my director is in two days."

"That's pretty soon."

Roderich lifted his gaze to meet Gilbert's. "Would you… like to come with me?"

 _Would you_ please _come with me?_

"Of course." Gilbert winked. "I haven't actually been to the symphony hall yet. It'd be nice to see."

Now that Gilbert knew he'd be in meetings with his director, he was prepared for Roderich to be a little more nervous than usual. He could tell by the way he generally kept closer to Gilbert, whether while out walking or alone at home together. Strangely, he could also tell by the way Roderich became more talkative. It was a new development ever since Gilbert started spending a lot of time with him. Whenever Roderich was having a particularly anxious day, he'd talk.

The night before Roderich was due at the symphony hall, he was shuffling through the printed-out manuscript.

"I started writing in the early spring, this section here. I had an idea but it didn't fully come about until summer began. The symphonies are challenging because you're working with a full orchestra, so I didn't finish that one until late summer. I left the concerto for last, those are the ones I've written the most of."

Gilbert listened amusedly, his arm resting on the couch back behind Roderich. He stayed over that night, in order to leave with him promptly in the morning.

They headed out later than their usual morning outings, and the streets were more populated because of it. Gilbert kept Roderich in his peripherals. Once they stepped outside his wall went up, that self-preserving instinct.

Before they walked into the building, Gilbert reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it one reassuring squeeze. Of course Gilbert couldn't go with him into the private offices, so before he left him, he said, "I'll just wander around, text me when you're done."

Roderich bit his lip and nodded.

Gilbert saw that the café on the lower level was open, so he started there. He sat for a coffee and spent some time meandering the halls, looking at posters for current and upcoming concerts. He tried to find Roderich in the mix to no avail.

He ended up near the box office, and the woman there hailed him down.

"Can I help you find anything?"

He smiled. "No, thanks, I'm just waiting for a friend."

"Have you been to one of our concerts yet?"

He already got little concerts, at home. "No, but I think I might see one in the future."

"Any composer you're looking forward to?"

He figured it wouldn't hurt, he'd try it out. "I don't know much about the classic guys, but I've heard about Roderich– Roderich Edelstein." He had to remind himself not to sound so familiar.

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, we love Roderich Edelstein!" she said, to Gilbert's surprise. "He's a real gem here at the symphony."

Gilbert almost laughed. "Have you met him?"

"No, none of us have – my colleagues and I." She gave a laugh. "In fact, he's known around here as the Phantom of the Symphony."

He chuckled. "Why is that?"

"Not many know who he is, what he looks like. Besides those that work with him, of course. For some reason he only attends certain receptions, and from what I've heard he doesn't like to make a big deal out of his entrances, and we don't have any photos. He's quite elusive, but a brilliant composer."

Gilbert felt like he was having an out of body experience. People knew who Roderich was. Gilbert had imagined that he was well known, he was with the Vienna Symphony after all, but to hear this woman speak of him so highly, despite never having met him, threw him off.

"Does he have any concerts soon?" Gilbert asked.

"Not this season, sadly. But I've heard he'll be premiering new compositions at the start of next season, in October, and we've already got a list of members ready to reserve tickets. If you call back in the spring, I'm sure we'll have updates."

Roderich wouldn't even be presenting these pieces until October? That was nearly ten months away.

"The Symphony operates a satellite music and gift shop across the street," she said, pointing out the windows. "If you're interested in exploring Edelstein's music, they should have some copies of his past concert recordings."

Gilbert's interest was piqued. He thanked her, and left the hall, crossing the street to the store she pointed out. He was the only person in the store, aside from the clerk, and some classical music was playing through the speakers.

"Looking for anything in particular?" the man asked.

Gilbert didn't even know where to start looking. "Um, I'm looking for Roderich Edelstein?"

The man smiled. "Ah, he's a good one. One of our most popular contemporaries."

Gilbert was stunned all over again. "I've heard."

The man led him to the other side of the shop, trailing over the CD cases with his fingers until Gilbert recognized his name.

"Here we go. The recordings of his three concerts to date with the Symphony."

"Three?"

The man nodded. "He's what you could call new blood, but already quite popular."

Gilbert felt almost like an insider spy. It seemed so many people knew _of_ Roderich, but Gilbert _knew_ him.

 _The composer, Roderich Edelstein? Yeah. I know him._

Gilbert bought the three CDs. He was at the register when Roderich texted him.

" _I'm at the music shop across the street,_ " he texted back.

The CDs were handed over in a bag emblazoned with the Symphony logo, and Gilbert turned to find Roderich enter the shop, hands in his pockets, looking nervously around at the music.

"Hey, how'd it go?"

Roderich shrugged.

Gilbert threw a thanks to the store clerk over his shoulder and exited with Roderich, walking close to him.

"Let's head home then?"

Roderich nodded. He was silent on the way home, but Gilbert could practically feel the buzz – the anxious buzz – inside him.

The minute Gilbert shut his front door behind them, Roderich started pacing the floor, pushing his hands through his hair.

Gilbert took him by the arm and sat them down on the couch. He pulled Roderich close, linking his hands around his waist. Roderich hid his face in Gilbert's shoulder. He wasn't trembling yet, and Gilbert hoped he wouldn't get there.

"How'd it go, Roddy?"

Roderich swallowed before saying, with a slight jitteriness, "I'm being foolish. This happens every time, I can't help it. I know it's just a first draft, and that the critique is constructive. I know that some parts inevitably need to be changed, I know it, I know it. My director has good intentions, and we work well together, but… I see a mark on the manuscript and I…"

"It's okay. You know that the end result is going to be awesome. You've got tons of people already waiting for your concert."

"How do you know?" he asked, a little surprised.

"The lady at the box office was quite excited about you."

"You talked about me."

"You were holding out on me. I didn't realize that everyone at the Symphony, as well as a good portion of Vienna's concert-going population, practically knows you."

"Well, I didn't either."

Gilbert chuckled into his hair. "How are you feeling now?" he asked.

Roderich relaxed against him. "Better."

"It's late for you. Do you want to go to bed?"

Roderich nodded his head against him.

"Come on." Gilbert took him by the hand and grabbed his laptop before heading off to the bedroom.

He set himself up, propping a pillow behind him and his computer on his lap.

Roderich changed out of his white shirt into his purple t-shirt, and Gilbert's eye caught on the constellations of moles dotted along his skin.

He put his glasses on the side table and slid under the covers, curling himself into Gilbert's side.

"What did you buy?" he murmured.

"Huh?"

"From the music shop."

"Oh, I, uh…" he laughed. "I bought your CDs."

"My what?"

"The recordings of your concerts. _Roderich Edelstein and the Vienna Symphony Orchestra_ ," he said in an imitation of a grand voice.

He could hear Roderich groaning. "Don't listen to them when I'm in the room."

"Well, it's not actually you playing, right?"

"No, but it's still my work. It's… old," he said, a hint of petulance in his tone.

Gilbert snickered. "Okay, okay, I get it. Now go to sleep."

"Will you be back tonight?"

"Of course. I can bring Liz with me. We'll get some champagne and have a celebratory toast."

"Mmm," he replied, sleepily. Gilbert smiled and continued his work on his computer while Roderich slept.

He stayed for a couple hours, until he closed the laptop, and slipped carefully away so he could head downstairs to work. Roderich was sound asleep by that point, and he would probably sleep later into the evening than usual.

Gilbert smiled down at him and closed the door softly behind him.

.

Gilbert felt like he was riding Cloud 9 – and being chased by an airship firing guns at him and his little cloud. And the airship was manned by, to say in the best way, Liz, featuring his conscience as co-pilot.

"Gil, we need to have a talk," she said one night after Gilbert came home from Roderich's.

His heart thudded. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are you doing?"

"I'm not following."

She sighed, that motherly look in her eye. "How exactly do you feel about Roderich?"

Gilbert swallowed, shrugging his shoulders. "I like him."

She just narrowed her eyes. "I think you like him more than that."

Gilbert could never really keep secrets from Liz, and she was never one to dance around a subject either.

"Okay, yeah, I do. What does it matter?"

"How much? How much _exactly_?"

"Liz! What does it matter?"

"It matters a whole lot when you decide to go and end up leaving him heartbroken! Gilbert, if you keep lying to yourself you're only going to hurt the both of you."

"What makes you think I'm going to leave?"

"You're not?" she asked, skeptically.

"No! I've never once wanted to leave. I don't want to be anywhere but here."

"Because of–"

"Yes, because of Roderich. But don't try to tell me what I feel because I've already been losing sleep over it."

Her brow softened. "Does it have to do with…?"

He knew what she was going to say – _who_ she was going to say.

"Maybe," he replied, his voice dropping closer to a whisper. "I just– I don't know. For the past few months I've managed to forget about all that shit. But now it's coming back and…" he sighed. "Travelling was my way of dealing with it. I don't want to do that anymore, because I want to be _here_."

Liz had been seated on the couch. She stood and wrapped Gilbert up in her arms.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It's okay. It was going to come about sooner or later."

The fates decided sooner, rather than later.

.

Roderich had been at the piano, working on the newest round of alterations he and his director had made to the compositions. Gilbert had let himself drift off to the sound of the music.

But then he was falling again, and he woke suddenly some time later when a hand touched his arm. He woke a little breathless, and with a racing heart.

Roderich was right there, kneeling beside the couch, an anxious concern in his eyes.

"Gilbert?"

He laid back and caught his breath.

"Gilbert, are you…"

"I'm fine," he breathed, not so convincingly. "I'm fine. Just… just another dream."

"Falling?" Roderich asked in a small voice.

Gilbert nodded at the ceiling. "It was from a cliff this time. I fell off."

Roderich was silent, and after a minute Gilbert turned his head and saw his expression pensive.

"What is it?"

Roderich gaze flickered, but he said, "I already told you that falling means loss of control, insecurity, and recklessness, right?"

"Yeah," he said, getting the idea. "Do cliffs mean anything?"

He hesitated. "Falling off a cliff means you are afraid of what is coming ahead." Gilbert absorbed that, and Roderich added, "But standing at the edge of a cliff means you have reached a new understanding, a new awareness, so…"

Gilbert breathed a laugh. "So there's an upside then."

"If you believe in it, that is."

"I don't see why I shouldn't. It's all accurate, one way or another."

Roderich opened his mouth to say something else, but he stopped.

"What, Roddy?"

"It's just… you mentioned Ludwig again."

Once again, his heart sunk to his stomach.

Roderich quickly said, "You really don't have to talk about it. I'd be a hypocrite if I asked you to."

"No, Roddy," he said, the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. "It's been on my mind recently. I told Liz I'd sort it out, at last."

"Elizabeta knows?"

"Yeah. It's been a thing ever since we've known each other. I keep running away from it, literally." He removed his hands and looked Roderich in the eye. "But I don't want to anymore."

"Well," Roderich said, inching his hand onto the cushion. "I'm listening, if you want."

Gilbert smiled and touched his hand with his own. He sat up first and pulled Roderich onto the couch next to him.

He took a deep breath and got on with it.

"First of all, Ludwig is my younger brother."

Roderich's eyes widened, but he said nothing.

"He's eight years younger than me. It was always he and I… and our grandfather." He swallowed. "He… kept us since Ludwig was a baby."

Roderich was still watching, listening intently, his hand curled around Gilbert's.

"Opa was… he was just a hard man. I knew he never really cared for me. I didn't care for him either. I guess that's why I took it upon myself to raise Ludwig as much as I could. It wasn't like Ludwig idolized him, but he saw him as more of a father figure than I did. I suppose that was natural, Lud didn't know our parents."

He took another deep breath to focus himself. "Ludwig was my everything. He's the reason I stayed in that house. I could have left, I spent a lot of my teen years debating it. Opa was basically ignoring me by that point. For some reason though, he didn't ignore Ludwig. It was like Lud was a do-over from me. He got involved in his schooling, his extra-curriculars, everything.

"When I was eighteen, I came home after a weekend away and Lud was gone. I asked Opa and he said he'd sent Ludwig to some prestigious boarding school. He wouldn't tell me the name, the city, nothing. I was furious. My hatred for him finally reached its peak. Ludwig was gone, I had nothing left to stay in that house for. I think he did it to keep him away from me.

"I left, and I started moving around. Each new place gave me a distraction from it all. But soon I'd start to think about it. I'd get urges to go back and demand information. But I'm as good as dead to him. I was literally running away from my problems. Vienna was just going to be another city. But I don't want to run anymore. I'm getting tired of it."

"That's your new understanding. Confronting your grandfather." This he said as if he knew it to be fact. How could Gilbert tell him that the new understanding was that he wanted to stay because of _him_?

"Maybe," was what he replied.

"Are you… are you going to find Ludwig?"

He sighed. "I want to. I don't know when that will be though. I think… I think my first step is to call Opa. He's my only lead."

"You don't want to, though."

"I really don't. But there's no other option."

Roderich's hand was twitching in his. He squeezed it.

"I'm sorry, I've made you anxious with all this. It's not your problem to deal with, you don't have to–"

"No, I'm… I'm fine. I just… I want to return the favor. You've been here for me. I want to… I want to be here for you," he said, his voice growing softer.

"Roddy…" Gilbert said, at a loss.

Roderich dropped his gaze again. "I'm sure you'll find him."

Gilbert smiled and rubbed his hand with his thumb.

.

He stared at his phone, uncertain whether he really wanted to do this.

"Do you want me to step out?" Liz asked gently.

"No," he swallowed, unsure how to say that he wanted someone there. "You can stay."

"Okay."

He stared at his phone again. It was only the morning after he'd decided to make the call, to finally do something about this and stop running. Vienna was where he wanted to be. Calling his grandfather needed to happen.

It didn't occur to him that his number might have changed since he last spoke to him, but the man was the type of person to keep the same pair of combat boots until they fell to shreds, so Gilbert was sure his number hadn't changed.

Gilbert dialed and slowly brought the phone to his ear. He secretly hoped he'd get his voicemail, just so he could hang up and try again later. He didn't want to leave a voicemail. His grandfather would probably just ignore it.

"Gilbert."

His heart near burst through his chest. He cleared his throat to the side and said, "Hey."

"It's been a while."

Gilbert reminded himself over and over to stay calm.

"It has."

"What do you want?" Straight and to the point. Gilbert appreciated that, at least.

"I want you to tell me how I can find Ludwig."

"Still haven't given up, hmm?"

His jaw clenched. "No."

His grandfather said nothing for a minute, and Gilbert wasn't sure that he hadn't hung up. Until he heard his breathing at the other end.

"It's been ten years, Opa, if I haven't quit now I won't ever–"

"Fine."

Gilbert's mouth hung open. "What?"

"I'll tell him you called."

"That's not what I want–"

"I will tell him you called," he repeated.

Gilbert bit his tongue. It wouldn't do good to snap at him, not when he'd gotten the most important lead in ten years.

"Is that all you wanted, Gilbert?"

He breathed out carefully. "Yeah."

"Goodbye, then."

Gilbert didn't get to say anything back. His grandfather hung up.

Liz sat next to him, wrapping her arm around him. She rubbed his back while he dragged his hands down his face.

"He said he'd tell Ludwig I'd called," he said, his voice already sounding weak.

"Only that?"

"Only that. I have no idea if he even will. I… I have no idea."

Liz laid her head on his shoulder, and they sat like that for a while, until she got up.

"You have the day off. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Well… you know to call me right?"

He smiled. "Yeah. Thanks, Liz."

Once he was alone, he debated sleeping some more. He'd told Liz that he didn't know what he was going to do, but he already had someone on his mind. He _could_ have stayed and slept, but he didn't want to sleep alone, he realized, not right now.

Gilbert gathered his things and left, finding himself in front of Roderich's door before he even registered the fact that he might be inconveniencing him. But Gilbert couldn't be alone right now. And though Liz was his good friend, he couldn't pull her away from work for something like this.

Gilbert quietly let himself in, looked around the apartment. No different than the previous night. Roderich was probably in bed.

He set his stuff down and meandered to the bedroom. Though when he pushed the door open, Roderich was propping himself up and rubbing his eyes.

"Gilbert?"

"I'm so sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No," he said, becoming alert. "I was just settling down. Are… are you okay?" He'd sensed Gilbert's mood, and his expression grew concerned.

Gilbert just didn't have it in him to pretend everything was all right.

"I talked to my grandfather today."

He wasn't sure what to say after that, he was still absorbing the call himself.

Suddenly Roderich was cautiously grabbing his hand, pulling him to the bed, and once he was on it, he found himself enveloped in Roderich's arms.

It felt nice, he realized. Better than nice. To be on this end of the embraces felt different, because Gilbert was so used to comforting _him_ , but the longer Roderich held him the more he realized he needed it.

"What did he say?" Roderich asked softly. His mouth was somewhere near the top of his head, perhaps a careful inch away.

The conversation – exchange of words, really – came back to him.

"He said he'd tell Ludwig I called."

"Just that?"

"Yeah."

Roderich was quiet for a moment.

"We'll just have to wait then."

Gilbert curled his fingers into his shirt. "But what if he doesn't? What if I'm stuck like this… never able to contact him."

"I'm probably not the best person for this… I can't tell you it'll all be fine, but…"

"It's okay, Roddy. I understand." Roderich saying it would all be fine would go against his own warring brain. He didn't need those words from him anyway. "I just needed someone." _I need you_.

Roderich's fingers curled and uncurled, hesitant, unsure, but the simple fact that he was there soothed Gilbert. And he was able to fall asleep like this. They both did.

.

Gilbert hadn't heard a word in a week. A week since he called his grandfather, a week since he said he'd tell Ludwig. At the beginning, Gilbert was a bit of a nervous wreck. He fell back and forth from "I'm confident this time will be different," to "Who am I to trust him? He won't do anything and I'll never hear from Ludwig."

This time, it was Roderich making him cups of tea, nudging his knee with his own when Gilbert zoned out while eating. It was Roderich who calmed him with his touch, and later Gilbert would find it amusing that their roles had been more or less reversed during this time.

But the end of that week marked a change.

It began when Gilbert closed up in Nocturne and entered Roderich's apartment. The lights were off and he was still sleeping, so Gilbert flicked them on and rummaged through the fridge.

His phone rang in his pocket. The number was unknown.

"Hello?"

"Um, hello. Is this… Gilbert Beilschmidt?"

It was a deep voice, an austere voice, that hinted at nervousness.

"Yes," he replied warily. "Who's this?"

A pause, two, three, heartbeats.

"This is Ludwig… your brother."

Gilbert felt the Earth fall out from under him. He felt the heat and the pressure behind his eyes, the lump gathering in his throat.

"Lud?" he said tightly.

"Yeah, it's me."

His breaths came heavier and he didn't know what to do with his hands, his body.

"Opa called me," he continued. His grandfather had _actually_ listened to him, for once in his life. "He called days ago, to tell me that you've been trying to find me. He gave me your number. I'm sorry I didn't call sooner… I… I was nervous."

Gilbert swallowed and tried to keep his voice from wobbling. "It's okay, Lud, it's okay."

"How… how have you been?" Ludwig asked.

A laugh bubbled out of him. "I've been okay. I want to know how you've been. Where are you?"

Gilbert was a little surprised to find out that Ludwig was currently living in Rome – he'd never even dreamed it. But Ludwig was going to university, for international politics, and Gilbert felt extremely proud once he heard that.

He also learned that Ludwig had been trying to find Gilbert, ever since he was old enough to search for him. He learned that Ludwig also had issues with their grandfather, but because he'd been a lot more involved in Ludwig's life, it was on better terms than Gilbert's situation. Gilbert couldn't bring himself to care; Ludwig seemed to be doing well, despite it.

After Gilbert gave Ludwig his story – a short summary of his travelling and subsequent desire to stay in Vienna – they found themselves talking about meeting, reuniting. Gilbert would go down to visit him in a heartbeat.

They ended with promises to call again, to keep in touch until they could see each other, and an hour later after he called, Gilbert hung up.

He could still hardly believe it. After ten years, he was finally going to see his little brother again.

Gilbert turned, and was surprised to find Roderich leaning against the wall at the edge of the hallway. His sudden turn startled Roderich, and he gripped his fingers.

Gilbert grinned wide. "Roddy, Ludwig called me. He called me! I can't believe it, I actually talked to him!"

He was so happy, so ecstatic, that he swept Roderich up and threw his arms around him, holding him tightly out of pure joy. Roderich had stiffened, but relaxed and his hands came around Gilbert's back.

Still giddy, Gilbert was grinning as he left Roderich's arms to pace fervently and imagine everything that would happen now.

"Oh, it was so great, Roddy! To finally hear his voice, and he sounds so different! I guess that's natural, he _was_ ten when I last talked to him. But he's in university, studying international politics! In Rome!"

Gilbert missed the way Roderich's eyes flashed nervously.

"I would never have guessed it. Italy, Rome! He's not that far away, oh just imagine Italy… I was in Milan a few years ago. So warm, I loved it. To think, I could go back… I could go see Ludwig in Rome!"

Gilbert went on like this for a while, oblivious to Roderich's escalating attack. At some point, he realized Roderich hadn't said anything, and his excitement about Ludwig plummeted.

Like a switch had been turned on, Roderich was shaking, trembling, already coiling into himself. He leant against the wall, but his legs were slowly giving out and Gilbert staggered forward to catch him before he collapsed.

His breathing was quickly turning into hyperventilation, and Gilbert flew into guiding him into deep breaths, more scared than anything because this was the fastest reaction he'd ever seen from Roderich.

He stroked his fingers lightly through his hair, bringing him to the couch.

"Roddy, what happened? What did I say?" he implored.

His breathing was still slightly erratic, but Roderich's eyes turned shiny with tears and he shook his head minutely.

"Roderich, please! What did I say?"

"You– you're going away." _Forever_. "You're– you're leaving." _Me. Forever_.

Gilbert's heart sank to his feet.

He gathered him between his hands, wiping the leaked tears away with his thumbs.

"No, no, Roddy, I'm not leaving you, I promise."

"But– Italy–"

"That's not for certain. Roddy, look at me. I'm not leaving you," he said, punctuating each word. "I'm staying. I'm staying here."

Gilbert didn't know how to make him believe, truly believe. His instinct pulled him forward, tilted closer that tiny amount, and he pressed a kiss to Roderich's lips that was both desperate and gentle. He hadn't really thought before he did it. It was a desire, a need for so long and the epiphany bowled him over.

The kiss did serve the purpose of essentially restarting Roderich, getting his breathing back to normal as Gilbert took a breath himself and returned for a less hasty kiss. It was on the second one that Roderich had really kissed him back, pushing slightly against his pull. And that was when Gilbert felt his chest swell with… love.

Gilbert's shirt was in Roderich's curled fingers, which no longer trembled.

He brought their foreheads together, glad that his breathing was no longer erratic.

"I'm not leaving," he repeated. "Not Vienna… not you."

"Gilbert…"

"I– I love you," he blurted, his heart jumping. "I think I have for a while."

Roderich's grip tightened. "That– that can't–"

"It is true," he said, wishing more than ever that there was an easy way to make him believe. "Roddy, I've loved you for a while now and I'll do anything to show you–"

Roderich interrupted him with a kiss, slightly uncoordinated and a little jittery, but it was Roderich.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Gilbert understood that he was sorry for more than the interrupting kiss.

"Never be sorry."

"I was afraid, because I had… I had fallen in love with you, and suddenly you were so excited to see your brother. All I could think was that you were going to leave, tomorrow, today, and… decide to never come back."

To hear those words said to him, that Roderich _did_ love him, made him feel light again with a new kind of joy. He was worried that once he told Roderich he loved him, he would worry all over again. But he loved him too.

Gilbert breathed out, a small smile curling at his lips. His hands trailed down over his arms, taking a firm hold of Roderich's hands.

"Roddy, I'm not going to leave. I want to stay here in Vienna. I want to stay here with you. I want to see Lud, too, but right now I'm here with you and the rest can wait."

Roderich hesitantly brushed his lips feather-light over Gilbert's.

And Gilbert took it upon himself to kiss that little beauty spot at the corner of his mouth.

.

.

.

 _Three weeks later_

Gilbert's leg was bouncing up and down. He sat on the arm of the chair.

"I still can't believe it," he babbled. "Luddy has a boyfriend! I can't wait to meet him, from what he's told me he sounds absolutely adorable."

Ludwig had asked if his boyfriend could come with him, and Gilbert gave no less than a thrilled yes. After all, he'd have his own boyfriend there with him.

Roderich was sitting in the chair, sipping his coffee. His hand slid into Gilbert's the way it always did when Gilbert was getting jumpy.

"You've told us," Roderich said.

"Have I?"

"Many times."

Gilbert laughed. "Don't worry, Roddy," he said. "You're still _more_ adorable, if that's what you're worried about."

Roderich cast a flat look up at him. Gilbert grinned and leaned over to kiss him firmly. He tasted like his strong, dark coffee. A hint of chocolate.

"Mmm. Sweet."

Roderich glanced away, embarrassed, and Liz piped up from the kitchen counter.

"That's because he keeps eating all the desserts I made. There won't be any left for them when they get here."

Gilbert snickered, and Roderich huffily sipped again.

It was partly coincidence that Ludwig was coming up to Vienna, instead of the other way around. Gilbert had resolved to tell him that perhaps he could go down to visit in a matter of weeks, after Roderich became more comfortable with the idea – as he was coming with him. But Ludwig had gotten there first and asked if it was okay for him and his boyfriend to come up. It worked perfectly. Roderich wouldn't have to be uneasy travelling, and they'd still get to reunite soon.

Now, Gilbert was just waiting.

He'd been waiting all day, trying so hard not to bother Roderich while he was sleeping. Ludwig was coming that night, after he and his boyfriend checked into their hotel. Liz had made him useful by having him help her cook dinner and dessert.

And then there was a knock at the door, and for all Gilbert's excitement, he froze where he sat.

"Gilbert," Roderich said, squeezing his hand.

"Oh, right." He swallowed, walked over to the door.

He opened the door to find a large man on the other side; inches taller than Gilbert, wide shoulders, well-muscled. He had combed back blond hair and a serious set to his mouth betrayed by wide, anxious blue eyes.

This was Ludwig all grown up.

"Luddy."

"Gilbert."

Gilbert threw his arms around his little brother, watery laughs escaping at the thought that his _little_ brother was very much bigger than him. Ludwig, always the stoic, controlled child, proved to be unchanged in this regard.

Ludwig hugged him back, tightly, but neatly.

Joyful tears beaded at the edges of Gilbert's eyes and he dragged him inside, holding him back by the shoulders to get a good look at him.

"Lud, you're… you're so tall!"

A smile wormed its way onto Ludwig's face.

Gilbert finally glanced around him, and saw the smaller, brunet boy behind Ludwig. He had his hands clasped and a nervous, but hopeful expression on his face.

"Gilbert, this is Feliciano."

"Um, hello," Feliciano said in accented German.

Gilbert laughed and threw a hug at him too. Feliciano jumped, surprised, but he hugged Gilbert back, a smile on his face.

"God, you are just the cutest thing." Feliciano flushed, but Ludwig did more so, perhaps. "Didn't I tell you, Roddy?"

He spun around, grinning. "Roddy?"

Roderich put his cup down and he came to Gilbert's side. Gilbert slipped his hand into his and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"Lud, this is my Roddy."

As expected, Roderich flashed him a glare that held no annoyance at all. "Roderich," he corrected. "It's nice to meet you."

"You remember Liz, right?"

Liz approached, giving Ludwig a gentle hug.

"I do," he replied.

"It's so good to see you again, sweetie," she said. "Dinner is ready, if everybody would like to sit down."

Gilbert had to hold back tears all evening. He sat next to Ludwig every chance he got. Talked to him, every chance he got.

He felt lighter than at any point in his life. He had Roderich, he had Vienna, and now he had his brother back.

The nightmares ended.

Gilbert could stop running.

* * *

 **Interestingly, if you've read my other pieces in which I write the GermanBros, you might notice a trend with the way I write their general backstory, aha... I can't help it. :P**

 **About the middle I was so debating whether to make this into two chapters, but the end was near so I sucked it up and here is another long chapter. So yes, this is the technical end... but I'm not exactly done (satisfied) yet. That being said, stay tuned for a fluffy epilogue ;D**

 **Thanks for reading! 3**


	6. Epilogue

If Gilbert lost all blood circulation to his left hand, then so be it.

He didn't think Roderich had ever gripped it this hard in the year that they'd known each other.

Gilbert snuck peeks every so often. Roderich's eyes were wide and only slightly anxious, fixed unflinchingly on the stage; he was leaning forward ever so slightly out of his seat; his hand, as previously mentioned, was making Gilbert's go purple.

Even so, Gilbert had to hand it to him – no pun intended. Roderich's music was fantastic. They were nearing the end of the concerto, the final piece. Gilbert recognized the parts he'd heard Roderich write all those months ago.

The orchestra faded out, and the audience erupted out of their seats in a standing ovation. Gilbert stood, and finally Roderich was tugged out of his trance. Gilbert looked down at him and smiled. Roderich stood and they applauded the orchestra.

Gilbert leaned in to whisper in his ear, "You're amazing." He snuck a quick kiss to his cheek before pulling back.

Eventually, the audience began to disperse, and their little company – Liz to Roderich's left, Ludwig and Feliciano to Gilbert's right – made their way out of the auditorium. Gilbert held onto Roderich's hand until they emerged into the wide hallway, heading toward the reception hall.

He could practically hear Roderich psyching himself up for the hour ahead, where he'd essentially be put in the spotlight, meeting and greeting various important people and high-class members.

He wished he could wrap him up and keep him calmed the whole time, but he couldn't. Roderich wasn't a PDA-type person, especially when all eyes would be on him, and he'd need to devote attention to all these people.

Very much used to Roderich in these types of draining situations, he knew that taking care of him that night would involve some extra-special attention.

The reception hall was already filled with people waiting, holding glasses of champagne while hors d'oeuvres made their way around the room on shiny platters.

With glasses in hand, Gilbert and the crew sidled off to a less crowded corner of the room, while Roderich met with his director and began the rounds.

Gilbert spent the hour in semi-distracted watchfulness. He met Roderich's eye just about every few minutes, giving him a reassuring smile to boost him on.

When he wasn't preoccupied with Roderich, he spent his time feeling just slightly off. He'd never been in a room – such a grand room – with so many rich people in his life. He shifted in his suit. He never really liked wearing them, though there _was_ something to be said for excellent tailoring. He'd even attempted to manage his normally disheveled hair into something more styled.

Around him, Ludwig and Feliciano seemed happy, standing close and speaking low to each other. Liz was the one to keep his attention when it so obviously wandered off to Roderich, and she looked great in her dress – she'd splurged for the event – and her hair twisted immaculately in a bun.

Despite his wishing he could be out of these clothes, and his general distraction with Roderich's welfare…

He caught Roderich's eye from across the room and sent him another smile.

 _Damn_ , did he look good in a suit. The man was born to wear them; long, lean, and elegant. Gilbert didn't miss the "casual" affections given to him by the equally as elegant ladies. He knew Roderich wasn't focusing on them at all, and when Gilbert studied him a bit more, his smile was starting to look a little twitchy.

The next time he caught Roderich's eye, he beckoned him with a nod of his head toward a hallway leading to the restrooms.

Gilbert disposed of his champagne glass and casually meandered through the crowd, nonchalantly heading toward the restroom. Instead, he veered to the hallway to the right of the restroom, significantly less populated. He ducked into a short, enclosed entryway to some unlabeled door.

Perhaps five minutes later, he heard footsteps and Roderich slipped into the dim entryway with him.

Wasting not one more minute, Gilbert took him in his hands, his fingers stroking through the hairs at the nape of his neck. He pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

"I feel like I'm going to vomit," Roderich said on a shuddered breath.

"You've got this," Gilbert responded. "You're doing great. Just twenty more minutes, okay?"

Roderich gave a small nod. Gilbert kissed him one last time, and then sent him off, waiting another five minutes before he too reentered the reception space.

He returned to Liz's side.

"How's he doing?"

"He'll make it."

.

Roderich did make it, and Gilbert got to wondering how he did this before him.

Ludwig and Feliciano said their goodbyes at the curb, taking a different cab back to their hotel.

It wasn't until he, Roderich, and Liz were tucked inside their cab that Roderich let out the breath he'd been holding. Gilbert took his hand again.

"I'd say that was a successful premiere, all-around," Gilbert said.

"I almost threw up," Roderich said, a little distantly, "on the mayor."

Gilbert smiled. "But you didn't. Your reputation is golden, babe."

Roderich was too drained to shoot him a look. Gilbert entertained small talk with Liz during the ride, until they arrived in front of Roderich's – _their_ – apartment and the café. Liz stayed in to ride to her apartment.

Roderich's movements were mechanical until the door was shut and locked behind them.

Familiar, easy, Gilbert opened his arms and Roderich was there, tucking himself into Gilbert.

He combed his fingers gently through Roderich's hair, pressing light kisses to his temple, his cheek, the corner of his lips.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Roderich swallowed. "Yes."

"Come on, lets get out of these suits."

In the bedroom – _their_ – bedroom, Gilbert shed his suit and changed into only a pair of pajama pants, Roderich into his usual purple ensemble. He slipped under the covers and let out the sigh that told Gilbert he was finally relaxing.

Gilbert climbed in next to him and removed his glasses, putting them on the side table. He came back and scooted in close, and he began laying a series of kisses on his lips, lazy and warm, deeper than the quick kisses of reassurance in the symphony hall.

His hand rubbed slow, soothing circles across Roderich's waist, hip, sliding back up to the curve of his neck.

This was one of the more enjoyable things about helping Roderich come down from these spikes of anxiety. His… methods varied – of which the more _active_ were another _highly_ enjoyable aspect – but with as depleted and weary as Roderich was, he was just as happy doing what he was doing.

"Thank you, Gilbert," Roderich whispered.

"Always."

On the brink of sleep, Roderich, warm against him, at peace at last, murmured, "I love you."

Gilbert smiled, nuzzled into his hair. "Love you, too, Roddy."

.

Roderich may have been done with receptions for a while, but evidently he wasn't done performing. And the performance the next night was a private recital just for Gilbert and Liz.

"I have a present for you," he told Gilbert after their dinner/breakfast.

Gilbert was helping Liz with the dishes. He turned and grinned. "You do?"

Roderich, sitting at his piano, nodded, a small smile on his lips.

He dried his hands and pulled up the armchair. Liz took a seat as well.

"I… I wrote you something."

Gilbert's eyes lit up. "You did?"

"It's a nocturne."

He felt his heart swell. "You wrote me a nocturne. Will I recognize anything?"

Roderich raised an eyebrow. "No, I wrote it in secret."

Gilbert grinned. "Well, go ahead!" he said, shifting excitedly.

Gilbert had heard a lot of playing over the months – Roderich was in the middle of the next commission – so he was especially enthralled by the fact that he'd set aside time to do this for him.

He was amazed, to say the least. Each note beat in his heart, and the peace Roderich exhibited while playing never ceased to make him love him all the more.

The music lilted to a stop, the air in the room reverently silent. Gilbert moved automatically, sliding onto the piano bench and bringing their lips together, imparting his joy, his love, and his gratitude.

"That was beautiful," he breathed, forehead to forehead. "Thank you."

"Do I need to leave?" Liz said.

"Maybe you should."

"Gilbert," said Roderich, flatly.

He chuckled.

"Will you be presenting that one?"

"No," Roderich replied. "It's all yours."

"You're kidding."

"I promise."

Gilbert kissed him again, grinning against his lips.

And whenever Gilbert was troubled, whenever he needed a pick-me-up, all he had to do was ask Roderich, "Will you play my nocturne?" and Roderich would smile, let him sit on the bench with him, and play him his musical "I love you."

* * *

 **There.** **My soul can lie to rest.**

 **Thank you for reading, and for the wonderful support and responses 3**

 **Tumblr: le-petit-fromage**

 **(Heyo its my longest story to date!)**


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